


Death In Venice

by Kifujin Kitade (KifujinKitade)



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-17
Updated: 2014-11-17
Packaged: 2018-02-25 18:24:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2631707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KifujinKitade/pseuds/Kifujin%20Kitade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fall in love in Venice</p>
            </blockquote>





	Death In Venice

'Vooooi'

Then a huge crash. In barely one second the house's ground floor was filled with clouds of smoke and dust. The small building where our target, a lame ass mafia boss from the slum of Venice, was living in had been built with a void in its middle so the dirt quickly gained the roof. The air was so opaque one couldn't see the tip of his noise.

'We're Varia, trashes! Your time for death is now. So get on your knees and pray your god for not suffering too much.' The silver haired swordsman barked to almost one hundred people, everyone wearing black suits and with semiautomatics at their sides – though they were so taken aback by the theatrical appearance that none of them deemed that the fact of drawing out was worth thinking over. As for the shark he didn't lose one minute to slash the first man in his aiming, who had been the man closest to the hole he made into the back wall. It was only the sight of blood pouring from one of their comrade which stirred the others to pull their guns. But too late. The silverette didn't let them time to fight back when he started his breakthrough in the scuffle.

Soon there were nothing more but a silver lightning swinging, cutting, dancing, slaying in a sea of black outfits, from time to time red staining its path and sticking to its glistening. The sound of the machine guns was the phrase giving rhythm to its pace, the last cries of dying people its music's notes.

The outcome of the fight was obvious: there was no way in hell my shark would lose against a bunch of low-level scums. And fuck he liked it. His maniacal grin hadn't flattered once since he scented his trapped prey. The others were just stupid pigs he was slicing, a heap of butter easily surrendering to his sword.

That was all I saw from the same hole. I don't even know why I had to cross almost one thousand kilometers for such a mission; better things were waiting for me back in Sicilia, most of all that new first ranked booze the Marmon baby gave me before I left the mansion (how that baby could buy alcohol I didn't know, and I didn't care).

I yawned. This was getting boring. Only ten out of the hundred were still up and we were there for only five minutes. Just why the fuck did the leader of the Vongola's assassin squad have to come in that shitty Venezia only to find one single trash? They only gave me the fucking reason that anyone we sent to locate him went missing after few days or practically torn to ribbons, so Varia would be the best hunter for that plague rat. Crap. I had to kick one ass or two when I'd get back home. Much ado about anything.

I pulled my X-guns at the remaining scums and shot, stopping the shark trash in his march. He frowned and turned back.

'Vooi, bossman. When people are happily doing their job…' He said while scratching the back if his head with his free hand.

'We're leaving, scum. Now.' I beckoned him to leave the pile of corpses. Losing more time in that rat hole had no meaning anymore; our target had surely fled since long.

'But isn't the guy still… Vooooi!' he yelled when I yanked his hair back for him to follow me. I didn't release it before we got out.

Shit, Venezia is one fuck of a city. First there's no fucking car in the entire place, if you want to go somewhere whether you walk, whether you take one of those stupid boat and bear the surge on the hull until you reach destination. And people. What the heck are all of those people here for? For watching a pile of boulders sinking little by little in the sea, getting stuck for hours in tiny caffès' lines or ripped off by gondoliers. However people can't help but coming back to those hovels.

Night had already darkened the evening's sky. The weather was chilly. The pilot of our motor boat was standing in front of the building, waiting for us. He quickly started up the ship as he saw us coming, me leading/pulling a loud and angry shark's hair. We swiftly took sit on the rear bench before the boat moved off. The canal was tortuous and scanty, but at least that part of the floating city was void of people, only one or two boats were still drifting here and there. After about twenty minutes – twenty long minutes filled with the shark's overly loud voice – we arrived at our hotel. We actually didn't stop there for so long after our arrival. I thought the job would be fast managed: go to the nest and eliminate the vermin, nothing more nothing less. It shouldn't have taken more than a half day, even having two members of the Varia on the job was a waste of staff; yet we found the way to botch it. What a pain in the ass. I mean: he, the shark trash, botched it. No way in hell could that be my fault.

The hotel was huge and luminous, the most luxurious in the city – though high class hotels weren't that numerous in the area. I crossed the wide garden and the exaggeratedly decorated hall in a bee fly and left behind the silver haired man. A sweetish receptionist was keeping him back for who knows what reason. They didn't talk for a long time though since Squalo threatened the man enough for him to shut it quickly.

'Vooi, you bitches get out!' Squalo shouted at three excessively daubed chicks in the royal suite before throwing his sword away. Crap. I surely had been as drunk as a lord when I picked them up much earlier.

'Eeeh? But don Xanxus allowed us to stay…' Two of them whined. The last one was watching placidly at a corner of the room.

'Get lost, slut.' I said before slumping into the giant throne in the middle of the room. A bottle of brandy made its way to my lips.

'So what now?' After the whores left Squalo took a sit in the opposite couch. 'We have to wait for instruction from the Vongola about the new location of the target. But what was that in the first place? Did they give us the wrong data or was that rat already aware of our plan? ...' While talking the swordsman began rummaging into piles and piles of papers covering the table in front of him, reading and writing unintelligible notes on them. What a workaholic, mostly like a book-worm when he's wearing his glasses. (Yes, the trash is wearing glasses, from time to time. I can't help but mock him every time he's putting them.) At any rate I could leave all the work to the shark; after all he was there for that purpose.

I didn't answer. I didn't have to. That's how we're working: the shark trash deliberating about all the details and me taking the final decision. The boss doesn't have to preoccupy himself with such triviality.

Nevertheless I was getting hungry and the shark was still soliloquizing, getting excited I didn't know why, entangling himself up in the mess he made.

'Scum. Call the room service. I want pasta.' I demanded after some time.

'… However I have to report to the Vongola. It's getting nowh-… Aaah? Can't you see I'm busy right now?'

'I don't care, trash. I'm hungry and I want meat.'

'Voi. Didn't you say pasta right before?' Squalo frowned then massaged his temple. 'Anyway they're going to deliver the diner in few minutes. I've already told them to bring something so it wouldn't take…'

A trigger's sound.

CRASH.

Everything surrounding us melted into fire and broken pieces. The luxurious furniture, the costly paintings, the opulent carpets and the sumptuous wallpaper, everything had been swept away by a enormous blast of hot air bringing up a wave of flames. The noise of the explosion altogether with the clatter of the wide windows had been deafening.

When I opened my eyes all I could see was a gigantic, chaotic amount of garbage – previously the pompous interior the Vongola should have to pay a fortune for (though they would have to, and even more with the entire suite ravaged). Curtains and walls – or rather what was left of them – were burning; the ground was coated with layers of dust. I could hear footsteps behind the door (which miraculously was still intact), certainly the hotel's staff trying to check whether the room's occupants were still alive or if they have to call at the mortuary.

'Shiiit. They pretty did it, those dickheads.' The familiar voice said from behind a wall of smoke. Gradually a white form emerged, tottering, from a dark corner, I recognized my right-hand man. He stumbled to the previous throne behind which I was serenely sitting, unwounded, and almost collapsed at my side. A trickle of blood was trailing on his cheek, I noticed he had his metallic hand gripping hard at what I assumed was perhaps a broken arm. 'Still alive, boss?'

'Shut up, freak.' I hissed at the smirking bastard. 'What's wrong with that?' I pointed at the broken arm.

'Naah. Nothing to worry about (Fuck off. As if I was worrying about you.). But that's great, ain't this? Now we know how all the previous assassins got killed by our target.'

The image of the last bitch crossed my mind.

'Aah.' I swept the unsightly trail of blood on the pale skin. 'The number of pests we have to exterminate has just risen a bit. That's all.'

 

'Fuck it. There's no fucking way I'm gonna stay in such a slough.' I ranted at the silver head. I took another glimpse at the shanty: it was a tiny flat in the second floor of an old building in the Venezia's getto, and consisting in only one room with one bed and one couch, the latter facing the opposite wall, one table with a stove above, and no chair. Left the front door, only a small window opening to the cobbled street below was piercing the grayish wall. No heating when outside temperature was nearing 0°. Shit. How the hell did things end like that?

'Vooi. Stop complaining, would you? I remind boss you were the one deciding to stay in Venezia and track the Prodi's head while they still believe we're dead! What's the point of playing dummy if we're to fire our cover right now?'

Che. When the fuck did I say that?

I grunted and sprawled into the bed, back facing Squalo. Holy shit. The mattress was stiff and dented. I hated that and I hated the shark for that. I was so angry I think I lost appetite. Squalo sighed behind me and went sitting on the couch.

'Well… I'm going to call the base tomorrow so for now…Good night, boss…' he said while lying down; head and a curtain of pure silver were brimming from the sofa. We still had the same Varia uniforms we were wearing in the explosion. But the flat's owner (an old Jewish who was larger than bigger) didn't make a big fuss about our late coming although it was the very first time we were meeting. It tells tales about what kind of scums could linger in the hovel.

The atmosphere was odd. I think about thirty minutes passed by like that. Me and the silver haired trash peacefully sleeping in the same room. I actually couldn't sleep a wink because of the shitty bed beneath me... Then I thought about the silverette. We were almost side by side, me and the shark, so close I just had to stretch my arm to reach him. That was absolutely stupid. The all situation was. And a waste of time. Bit by bit some kind of need was building up within me, urging me to grab at tufts of silken hair, to shove into something hot and soft…

'Hey trash, stop fidgeting like that, you're noisy.' I said as the swordsman turned up in the couch, making the springs creak.

'Voi! I'm sorry but this shit is too small for me!' He roared angrily.

'Stop being so touchy and shut the hell up.'

'You are the one annoying me! Can't you fucking sleep calmly for goddamn's sake?'

'Shitty shark…'

And fuck it. I am Xanxus. I'm not meant to suppress any of my cravings. Yeah. I was right, utterly right; so was the fact that I fetched the silver haired swordsman in his couch, pulled him to the bed, undressed him without giving a fuck to his whining, which I knew would quickly become purring of satisfaction.

'Xanxus… Aan…'

I smirked. Until morning, we still had plenty of time.

'… Mm… So we won't go back before long, I think… One or two weeks, not more…' The very first thing I saw the next morning was the delightful sight of a naked, pinkish skin, and silver hair overflowing like a river everywhere around me.

Squalo was the first awake and was already on the phone with someone from Vongola or Varia, I didn't really care. He was sitting in the bed, a sheet covering his body up to his hips, leaving the rest bare. Thin limbs were glowing with the early light streaming from the window. The day was grey and cold, and so goosebumps were showing on the shark's neck. He didn't see me getting up, as he was facing the opposite side.

'Aah. They are more stupid than what I firstly thought, those blockheads… Yeah, we'll need an investigation team; we'll have to track them to their lair… Make them come here for today… Okay- Ha?' I took the phone and talked to the speaker.

'Hey, trash. I'll burn anyone who would have the guts to come here, any pretext they would give. Just try and I'll kill you.' Then threw it at the opposite side of the room.

'Voi, Xanxus, are you nuts?' The shark trash fumed but rapidly changed his expression as he looked at me.

'Scum. The others trashes are looking for trouble with me and only me. This is a private issue. I'll in person skin each one of them alive.'

After all I could combine business with pleasure, the pleasure of burning down every one of those Venetian bastards.

The shark sent me the what-the-hell-have-been-crossing-through-that-child's-mind look. Yet such questioning never interfered with his capacity to give in to each one of said child's fancies. 'Aye aye, bossman. All we have to do is to cut them, isn't it?' At his gaze I guessed the idea wasn't revolting the silver haired assassin. 'Gotcha.'

Squalo jumped out of bed and started looking for his discarded clothes. 'A good old hunt, huh?' he whistled. 'That sounds great.'

The predator's blood was boiling with excitement.

 

The door slammed open.

'Voi, Boss, I'm back.' The shark shouted.

'You're late, scum. And what's with all this?' I pointed at the giant pile of full to bursting packs the trash had thrown on the table. Hours ago he went buy some fit for human consumption food, but I didn't remember asking that shit.

'What? I bought some spare clothes. You don't want to wear the same Varia uniform for who knows how many days, do you?'

I shifted on the couch. 'Stupid. You're only a freakish mother-hen.' Squalo's frown deepened.

'Shut up! You don't know what crap I've been going through to find them! Just eat now and leave me in peace.' He nervously hooked a silver lock behind his ear. Oh fuck it. I was starving like hell, and the shark had brought some… Ha?

'Trash. What the holy fuck is this?' I asked incredulously. The thing I was watching wasn't what one human being can call fare. It was much more fodder than anything else.

Fierce grey eyes were sending daggers; ruby orbs burnt them with matching ferocity. 'Hey, Boss. What's wrong now?'

I felt the great need of throwing something at the shark's head. 'This is shit. I won't eat that.'

I think back then Squalo face-palmed himself; at least he sighed with exasperation. 'Vooi. This is what you can get here so don't be so picky about food.'

That was true, though. In Venezzia's getto all we could find was stacks of foodstuffs you don't know where they were coming from, or fucking kosher meat. Like hell I would eat that. We have been staying there for almost two days. Two days of hideout, eating only the same shitty area's food until nausea, trailing every little crook in order to get information about the Prodis (which were no less than the biggest famiglia in the city) and then again looking for edible food to eat. Or it was rather (completely) the shark's job. For such a low-level mission I knew I didn't have to lift one little finger and leave my right-hand man to do all of the dirty work. All I heard about it was more and more grumble and endless recrimination: that the Prodi's pawns were all bunches of useless rats that were much more able to hide and run away from him than anything else. Walking – and running after someone – in crowded streets and countless dark alleys was a pain in the ass, taking care of me was a pain in the ass… Now I recall about it all I've been doing was sleeping and waiting for who knew what the silverette would get back from his hunt. And I've already said it was most of all shit.

The trash was standing in front of me, barely recovered from his two-hour non-stop searching for groceries. I looked up at him and after a second glimpse at the small packs of seeping crocchetta and galina on the table, I grimaced.

'Throw that away or I'll drive it in your sorry ass; and go find some eligible meat, trash.'

'Xanxus, you bastard! Do you ever know how long I've been looking for only this? There isn't a shit anywhere! How do you hope me to stumble on some high ranked food in a place like this? If you don't like it, you can get your ass to go find some by yourself! I wish you good luck.'

I started delving into the shapeless meat with a fork. It was flabby and smelly. 'You know very well I won't do that.' I took a mouthful of the crocchetta before spit it out, right on the shark trash's face, the rest of the pack following it. 'Scum! Are you trying to poison me with such fucking shit? I'll kill you!' I finally burst.

'Voooooi I'll kill you, fucker!' The trash yelled while weeping his dirtied face. 'Firstly you fucking didn't have to throw it all at me, you asshole! That's fucking gross! What am I? Some sort of fucking trash bin or what? Fuck off! ...' Next minutes were filled with trifling complaints and whining.

Che. The fuck. At that rate I was going to get nothing to eat, all of the getto's cuisine inducing in me everything similar to disgust and execration. The place was shit, the food was shit, and Squalo's overly eternal bitchery was more than shit. Goddamn world, was it my fate to die from famine or gastroenteritis – and moreover as deaf as a post – in that shitty hole? Hell no I wouldn't! I wouldn't die before my time because of such a reason!

'Hey, trash' I stopped the swordsman in his blasphemous rant. 'We're getting out.'

On the contrary of what most of people believe about the getto, this has nothing to do with the usual idea of slum full of hovels, delinquents and graffiti, a shanty town where no mother would let her children play freely. Venezzia's getto is rather a small district filled with old, constricted houses and roads, few synagogues but many little shops, and, like everywhere in the city, suspension-bridges, although they're smaller and older.

We crossed a piazza, heading to the sestiere's entrance, and then traversed the Ponte. The getto wasn't that big; we barely lost ten minutes by feet to leave it; still it was principally because I was so hungry that I rushed the fastest I could for the next venditore ambulante I saw who wasn't selling nor unidentified meat nor shitty vegetables. I finally found one with things like prosciutto and formaggio on the corner of a street. Well that was better than famine or gastroenteritis.

I jostled the line of waiting customers in front of the stand ('Get out from my way, trashes.') and then grabbed at the first roll of mortadella on the stall, then a second one, then pieces of mozzarella and gorgonzola. I didn't give a fuck to the embarrassed venditore nor to the rest of the crowd which had been certainly waiting there for hours, even when they started going on me. One fat ass among the tourists particularly thundered behind my back as I gulped down my second salami. Miserable scum. I was on the point of pulling out when I heard the usual 'Vooi' far behind.

'So you've been here, Boss.' The shark said when he finally reached me. 'Don't start running away without leaving trace, that's bothersome.'

'Ha? It's your fault for being too slow. You could have stayed behind, it would have been less a nuisance for me.'

The shark was to reply something harsh but then the fat ass cut him off.

'Sorry, sir, to disturb you when you're lunching, but we've already been waiting here for quite some time, me and my family, and moreover we've been here before you! Everyone here have! (Grunting of approval from the audience) So could you, please, wait for your turn like everyone else did…?'

'Voooooi, shithead. You sure have a death wish for blabbering like that.' The shark bared his teeth and grabbed the flabby man by his collar. 'If the Boss fucking wanna eat here, he's fucking gonna eat here; and if some kind of fatty-belly dude disturb him in his lunch, be sure said fatty-belly shit won't have enough time to beg for forgiveness from his holy God before I'll rip his guts out right in front of his brats. Comprende, voi?'

The fat ass nodded vehemently before running away, bringing with him his shitty family. The silverette sent a 'Who's next' look to the others. It made them startle and go quiet. That was better.

'Er… Signore…' A very soft voice asked toward me. We both turned to the puny salesman. 'Scusa… Ma per il prezzo...'

'Voi, sorry for the trouble. I'm taking charge of it.' Squalo said, doing a little movement with his head in my direction.

A quarter of an hour later we were off. I was wandering in the cobblestone road, staring with a moderate interest at the shop windows spreading all along the street, looking for a suitable place to have diner. The shark was shadowing me. It was almost 4 pm and yet the place wasn't as filled with vacationers as I thought. Maybe it was because of the cold. However some time later floods of people waving from behind me got the better of my reasoning: herds and herds of odd outfits, masks and headdresses overflowing from I didn't know where, to go I didn't care where. The outburst of colors and voices was dizzying and deafening. Fuck, I had to get out from there. I beckoned the shark to follow me in the first bar on my right. Shit, fucking weirdoes were pushing me back.

'Voi, you've never been in Venezzia before, haven't you?' The shark laughed once we'd taken a sit in the small caffè. The inside wasn't glorious but it was better than staying outside with those waves of weirdoes there. He ordered drinks.

'What if? Anyway I don't give a damn to that kind of stupidity.' I hissed whilst downpouring whisky in an empty glass. The silver haired man was having wine.

He stared blankly at a point at the back of the hazy room. 'I have. A long time ago before knowing you.' He yawned, stretching his arms. 'But this is over, and now I'm with you, so cin cin!'

I caught a glimpse of the silverette drinking greedily the red liquid. How strange for him to talk about his past. Every time he's doing that it makes me wonder how much about him was still unknown to me. I grunted.

'Shut the fuck up. Your voice is giving me a fucking headache.'

'If you don't want to have one then stop drinking that much, idiot. I'm not the one who's gonna put up with a hangover tomorrow.'

'Che. Mother-hen.'

He didn't hear my remark, so busy as he was drinking down one glass after another of wine; and he seemed quite pleased with it. Easy contented shark. Nevertheless those were actually the only moments the swordsman was almost sufferable, I mean when he's drunk off his ass. He wouldn't become quiet (Squalo, for the simple sake of our poor ears, will never ever become quiet); but at least he would stop whining and mothering everybody, and would act much more like a mere human in mere circumstances. To a certain point. That day wasn't different: the ugly frown had disappeared from his forehead, which seemed brighter than usual; he was starting making stupid jokes about the bar's visitors, laughing at his own tasteless humor, and darker pink was little by little tinting his cheeks to his ears.

'Ah ah. And then he said something like…'

I wasn't paying attention anymore to what he was chattering. I knew it was as boring as watching grass growing. My eyes were glued to the curtained windows: overly dressed men or women, one couldn't clearly distinguish from that far, were flowing again and again, and they seemed to get more and more numerous. It was bothering. My attention went back to the silver head to see that he wasn't sitting next to me anymore. I finally found him heading for the counter, probably to get some more wine.

The trash sure was tipsy. Manifestly he couldn't stand up straight, his feet making him tottering absurdly. What was more absurd was the effort he was giving to look more concentrated on the things he was doing – effort vainly ending into a childish pout.

So he was staggering in the crowd when suddenly – and how the fuck did he do that? – he crashed into one of the customer on the bar. Squalo reeled more and was two inches from sprawling on his stomach all over the floor, but said customer found it very helpful to hinder me from having one of my favorite amusements by holding back the shark from his fall. And holy shit he held him by his fucking hip! Just what the fuck was that? My shark was getting groped in public and right in front of me? Or I was getting paranoid because of the whisky. Or not.

The fucking bastard, as if groping a drunkard wasn't enough, took all his sweet time while chit-chatting with the stupid and desperately oblivious shark. From where I was I couldn't clearly hear what they were talking about, and reading on lips wasn't part of my specialties. Yet it didn't prevent me from getting ill from their conversation.

As I said before, Squalo, when he was drunk, was really another person who can do stuff you can't imagine the sober Squalo would do. Like at that time in the bar. Instead of bursting at the fucking bastard who bumped into him – which was what the normal silver haired man would do – he joyfully accepted the customer's apology (and with a kind of smile I swear he'd never ever showed me before). He even fucking laughed at some stupid thing that figlio di putana said! They seemed to get on very well… Too well from my point of view. But at the same time I didn't want to pass as the jealous lover.

Jesus fucking Christ how long would they keep on that low comedy? The shark was supposed to get some fucking booze, not flirting with the first comer! And was it some kind of an optic illusion or were they getting closer? The bastard came nearer to the stupid shark face, enough to graze at his skin… And then I snapped. Fuck the jealous lover thing, I was angry.

In no time I wringed the Casanova's wrist. He squealed from the pain.

'Hey, scum. How far did you want to go with people's property?' I hissed at the man. Squalo was looking at me dubiously.

'Xanxus? ...' What? It was like he'd even forgotten about my presence.

'You piece of crap, don't you think you're getting out of this.' The shark stayed silenced.

I pressed harder on the twisted joint until hearing a crack then kicked the fucker's ass down before pulling at the silver mane, dragging its owner to the back door.

 

'Mm… Yaa-an! Xanxus!'

Once again, a drunken Squalo was something great, something that would shamelessly agree to things too much embarrassing for the clear-headed one.

Things like fucking in the toilet of a filled up restaurant, with no regard to the lewd sounds he was making or the possibility anyone else would need to use the rest room.

'Trash. You sure have guts to play with some sucker when I'm here.'

A third finger plunged into the wet and tight hole, stretching it and hitting on a soft spot. I had the shark's leg hooked under my arm and pressing against the opposite wall, his arms locked in my back. His hair was spreading out everywhere, some falling on his face, some sticking to a sweat covered back, some entangled in my hands. The tension was getting higher. Silver eyes filled with lust locked at me.

'That wasn't… You're… Ngh… that's wrong…'

The shark's back was arching against the wall. On naked thighs and shirted torso were dripping both cum and sweat from being teased again and again. His face, more flushed than before, was contorting with pleasure and need, ferric eyes darkened with lust, redden lips parted and asking, wanting for something different…

'Xanxus… Bastard, quick… Put it… in… Aa! Put it in… Damn!' Delizioso supplica. but I did want to hear more.

My fingers came in and out, always prodding harder and massaging the inner walls. Even after coming once, the shark was already hard and twitching, his throbbing erection longing for attention, desperate for my hand to jerk him off. Sometimes I wonder if it was only that easy to get the shark turn on (so easy that anyone like the previous looser could do it), or if that was only the fact that I was the one doing that which initiate that fervor in him. Fuck it. The answer is already obvious.

'Aan… Fuck… Mm… Ah! Stupid… Boss… Stop that…'

Pre-cum was once more leaking from his shaft's slit and soaking wet the red flesh, mixing with the previous liquid and trickling slowly on the ground.

'Humph. Sure. You love it, don't you?' I whispered in the shell of his ear as he began impaling himself on my finger, clenching and unclenching with my thrusts' rhythm. 'You love that sensation of something hard stretching you open, don't you? You're actually drooling for something bigger, hotter… How is it, every time I drive in you? Your inner-self does know it, doesn't it?'

At those words the shark twitched harder and whined louder, his head slightly tilting aside, staring at me with hunger and desire. My fingers were scissoring in the ring of muscles. Gradually, as the pressure of Squalo's flesh tightened on them, want started pooling in my pants. At last I felt the dire need to pounce on that hot body, and plunge into that firm ass to my heart's – or rather my dick's – pleasure. But I was no slave of my body's need, and I already had some plan for the shark.

'Xanxus… I'm… com…'

'As if, you damn piece of trash.' I said and, grabbing at one handful of silver hair, I tossed the proud swordsman to the ground so that he was on his knees and looking up at me.

'Vooi… What's that for?' he whimpered. 'I was fucking clo-' Without warning I silenced the swordsman by one hand. It constrained me to bow down at the shark level, sustaining myself by one elbow leaning on the door.

'Do you think I'm gonna let you come that easy? Stupid shark trash.' I muttered and stroked softly at his right cheek. 'That beautiful mouth of yours has been neglected, don't you think? Make it useful so I'll probably reconsider about letting you come or not.'

Even if he seemed dazed, Squalo did hear it right. Still on his knees and dick erected, he started unbuttoning my pants, movements a bit nervous, and gasped when he finally freed my fully standing member.

'…Donnaccia.' I hissed at the cold air on my skin.

Without further ado, he kissed and licked at the tip before trailing his tongue on a dilated vein, licking from the base to the head. He repeated the motion few times before adding his hand to tease the tip by pushing in one finger from time to time… And oh fuck it felt fucking good. Maybe I should get the shark drunken more often; his skills sure were feeling effects from his intoxication. It isn't that Squalo is a frigid partner – rather the contrary – it's just that he's a lot more yearning when he isn't quite aware of his surroundings. Like at that moment.

The silverette had since long quitted the licking and had started sucking me all in. I shuddered whenever I felt myself hit the back of his mouth, steadily pushing into his throat. What a blissful sensation the moist cavern was giving me. Softly I pressed on the silver head for it to take me deeper alongside with the gentle rubbing he was giving to my balls and the base of my cock. Fucking great. But it felt even better when, feeling me convulsing in him, the shark began moaning at his ignored erection. The vibrations in the bottom of his throat quickly made their way to my shaft, combining with the already tightness of his mouth.

'Trashy shark…' I grunted. I was close.

The shark was getting reckless. He was sucking faster and slanting his head to the side. It made my dick explore some new angle of Squalo's throat; at some point I had started thrusting upward in the wetness. Finding release. Quickly.

I couldn't get my eyes off of the silver beauty: his slicked lips hiding then displaying my pre-cum coated organ, his shiny, silvery mane waving wildly below, his head graciously bobbing between my thighs… Oh fuck.

'Mm… Ngh!' The shark moaned when a load of semen spurted in his throat. He tried to withdraw the fastest he could but a huge amount of it had already filled his mouth and soiled his face and hair. The fencer only gulped it down, gobbling in the process, before staring back at me, his eyes asking for his own release… Ah, that's right. I said he couldn't come yet.

'Hey, shark…' I panted 'There is some left.'

With the remaining strength in his legs, he rose a little then got going on cleaning all the white liquid on me, being sure he had wiped well my slowly limping member.

'Xanxus… Now…' he almost implored.

'Aa. I get it. But first we're going home; I can't fuck you like I want in a place like this… And don't forget washing that face, shitty shark. I'm waiting for you outside.'

 

The next day Squalo was blushing. He was blushing like hell. Another miracle in Venezzia.

'Vooooi… Bastard… You made me do that when people could actually have come there and find us out…' The shark trash mumbled. His whole body had flowered with hickeys and he could barely stand up, so he contented himself with just lying on the bed and hiding his face in the pillows.

'It wasn't like someone really came there. You're making a big deal of nothing…' I retorted. Seeing him that embarrassed was also one of my darling sins, and I was in a good mood enough that morning (read afternoon) to put up with the shark's annoying voice.

'But they could have heard it from outside! Shit, I swear I'm not going out to drink with you for the rest of my fucking life!'

But last night you surely did like it, I wanted to say but I didn't. I knew it would have made the shark shut it until oblivion so I didn't. But I couldn't help but being roguish at him sometimes.

'So. Where are we going to eat today?' I mused and gladly waited for the answer. Squalo trembled beneath the sheets.

'Stupid Boss. Guess I have to cook.'

 

'Hey. There're too much people. Let's go back.'

We've left the Getto and were walking along the Canałasso. I already knew we were in times of festivities, but I sincerely didn't think there would be that much tourists strolling here and there; the best was that I fucking didn't know what they were looking for. Oh, right. There were a ridiculous amount of souvenirs shops and side walk stands. They were so numerous I had no idea how they were doing not to go bankrupt. There you have those fucking gondola, too, with their fucking gondoliers. Holy fuck I swear I had been on the point of shooting one of them when he started to literally steer us around in circles in those goddamn canals, as if we were some of those brainless tourists he used to trick. There would also be some funny odd men wearing tasteless outfits and masks, or stupid women walking around with the same weird masks and weirder dresses, then everyone would show off and fill the already constricted strada.

And I'm going over the shittiest things.

Our target hadn't shown up yet. It had left us with only two solutions: whether chasing after him like good dogs, whether waiting for him to willingly show up. However if we had to choose the second option, it would have take months and months and I wasn't – I'm not – a patient geez. Though at that time I was feeling playful. I still hadn't forgotten the injure the Prodi trash had inflicted me, and it would have been particularly delightful to show him my gratefulness with the best present I had thought about. I decided on smoke out the fox's burrow until asphyxia.

That was why all we had been doing the last days had been cutting off small dealers, cheap prostitutes and barmen of ill repute, slaughtering one or two of Venice's officials linked with the famiglia, and bursting some warehouses. Maybe the Vongola wouldn't appreciate it, but it was their fault to give me such precise consigns as "taking down all of the Vongola's enemies who had been involved with the Prodi's famiglia, starting from the boss himself." Orders clear and unambiguous.

'Voooi, stupid boss! if you didn't want to go sightseeing, why did we have to go to those places? I'm fed up with you complaining each second for the smallest shit!' Squalo shouted. That man really doesn't know the meaning of the words "talking quietly".

'Shut up, scum. Your voice is giving me a headache.' I rubbed at my forehead as a migraine was slowly reaching it. Did that day actually have to be as fucking annoying as every day? That morning, still, it wasn't like that, not yet.

As I nagged enough for the silver haired man to stop bringing the shitty food he found in the getto, and threatened him enough for us not to go to some fucking restaurants again ('Why?' – 'Scums don't have to know why') unless he wanted to eat his food with a straw for the rest of his life, it had constrained him to cook all of our meals.

At the first time, the silver trash complained; he complained like a bitch. It was mostly a lot of cursing, shouts like "Where the fuck is the pecorino? – The hell! I've run off of tomatoes! – Vooi. There's no more meat! – How the heck did you eat all of that by yourself?". But at last he quieted (Who wouldn't with a gun pointed behind their head, willingly ready to burst their brains out?).

And that was the biggest surprise: the shark trash was actually a good cooker, as good as the other fag (Lussuria), or maybe better. Of course I would never ever admit that to the one or the other. The food wasn't elaborated, at first it wasn't even alluring – it was like a heap of unknown fuming object. I remember staring incredulously at the shark's face downcast by three hours of incessant fight against the stove, and then at the fuming object in front of me. I also remember saying something like 'Fuck off, trash' and being on the point of throwing the dish at the swordsman, but I didn't. Back then I was truly hopeless on finding an acceptable meal in the whole damn town.

Finally I accepted to take a bite, but fuck! The unknown object (actually that was bottarga) was great (in spite of the fact it was fish). The whole thing was looking like shit, but at least it was tasteful. The next day, too (that day had been carpaccio), and then next one. The aspect still was the shittiest possible, but that was better than any food I ate since we came in Venice.

The next day, though, the silverette ranted. 'Vooi, boss. I'm fed up with this shit! Why do I always have to cook for you? That's fucking annoying, you know, to be constantly standing and whether cutting or peeling whether frying or boiling something while all you're doing is lying around. I'm not your fucking slave!'

'Che. You're starting to sound like a fucking woman.'

'I'm not, you damn bastard!' He yelled louder. 'Doing this day after day is truly frustrating. Right now I'm supposed to run after the other scum, not fucking kindly playing your wife here!'

'It's a relief you're not. If you were my wife I'd have left you earlier.'

'The fuck? That's why I say you're a stupid boss! Who would ever… Fuck!'

Then he ran to the boiling pan which had started to overflow over the cooker, emitting a burnt smell. Good. That night was scallopini.

 

The following day we were off on work in one of the numerous hovels of the floating city. Rumors said there were some of the most faithful men of the Prodis.

The place was only like another house of Venice, jammed between two others buildings, a canale facing it. The shark came by the roof: there was only one entrance to the den, and surely guards would have been posted before it, we would have been fired at like dead puppets if we had got the silliness to attack from the front. Squalo didn't dawdle. Sneaking by a fractured window, he went in. I just stayed outside. That range of trash wasn't something to bother me for, that's why the shark was there. Soon after he came in, I heard dull sounds of punches, broken bones and all glasses. Obviously using guns was bad. Unlike last time in the Prodis' headquarters, we were in the town center; gathering policemen by gunshots would have been bad. That was one nice side of the blade.

Three minutes later he was already back for the report.

As we had expected, the head wasn't there, only few of his comrades; but the trip wasn't that bad either as he found out another of their haunts.

'… Sooo, boss. E dopo? It's already evening. Do we continue on hunting them for today?' The shark yawned while stretching his arms. 'If we go now, it would reduce the number of areas still not cleared.'

I glared at him. 'Aaa? Are you stupid? You scum have to prepare my dinner. Have you forgotten about that?'

The silver haired swordsman watched at me with bloodshot eyes. 'Vooi' He hissed dreadfully. 'How long are we going to keep on that? I said I'm fucking tired of fucking cooking for you, you fucking scumbag! Just give it up and let's go to a restaurant already, fuck it, Xanxus!'

I locked my gun on his temple. 'And I said don't you fucking talk about eating out anymore, trash.'

'In that case can I fucking ask you why?' he burst.

'Because you're an idiot (and the world is full with shitty skirt chasers – in my case loud-mouthed and long silver haired idiots-chasers, I wanted to say). Let's get down before someone hears your damn bitchery.'

I pulled on the white mane, earning more and more whining, and turned back.

That was how we ended in the previous situation.

Fortunately, we were wearing casual clothes (in fact we didn't want to attract the Prodis' attention with our Varia uniforms, though our features were already standing out like hell). Squalo had brought his sword in one of those kind of big tubes painters use to put painting in, so we could melt in the crowd of vacationers.

'And for the fucking last time, we aren't sightseeing. We're here because you're a stupid bitch, because I want granita, and because I'm tired of fucking you in restaurants' toilets.' Squalo turned red. I smirked and took the shark's chin between two fingers. 'Or do you prefer to do that there? I admit your mouth was pretty greedy at that time.'

'Sh-shut up, asshole!' The swordsman was shuddering. Stupid proud shark. 'I was dead drunk. As if I would do such things when I'm sober…'

That's so easy to turn that man on, I pondered whilst nearing my face to the one with feral grey eyes. 'Huh? So you're telling me to get you drunk?' I whispered in a reddened ear. 'That wouldn't be difficult, too, with your low alcohol sustaining tendency.'

'Shut it, I said! That part of your personality really is fucking bothersome! Always bossing people around like a fucking… Mmh!' He quieted when I crushed my lips on his, right in the middle of the crowd. That was sure the best way ever to make the shark trash shut for a while. After few seconds, he gasped for breath 'Ah! Fuck off, Xanxus! How many people do you think c- Aan… See us right… Mm… Now… Hn…'

That's how Squalo is: constantly bitching and whining about everything, but in the end, he always gives in, like a little prude whore. His mouth was without doubt appealing, always so wet, so soft, so hot. It made me remind in a flash one of the previous day's memories, with the silver head between my thighs, bobbing swiftly, smoothly … I pulled the shark trash's waist closer, searching for that warmth again, but then:

Snap!

I heard a photosnap along with a bright lightning. We rapidly turned to the intruders, eyebrows furrowed and eyes sending flames.

'Iyaa. They sure are cute, nee papa?' A mid-aged woman with a photo camera said to her husband beside her, a bold geezer with thick framed glasses. They both were wearing Bermudas and caps. Judging by their features and their accent, I guessed they were Japanese. 'It reminds me on our young ages, do you remember? When we met at high school…'

'Iie iie, kaa-chan. Don't you remember? I was so shy I couldn't even say a single word in front of you… Aah! Memories from the past… Be sure to treasure them deeply in your heart, youngsters…'

'Voi.' Squalo hissed.

'Hey, stupid old farts.' I echoed.

'Just die here and now and leave the fuck of us alone!' We roared with anger, Squalo with slight embarrassment.

I didn't have to pull my guns out at the couple as they ran away right after hearing the cursing.

'Che. Useless trashes. Hey, trash, we're moving on.' I yanked at the shark, but instead of the tip of his hair, I grabbed at his wrist (which was, I swear it, a regrettable accident that will never occur again, or at least never out of a bed, or a couch, or anywhere else where I can fuck the life out of the shark). Squalo, like a good doggie, followed me without protesting, his pace shadowing mine.

At last, wandering quietly in an evening Venice with the silver haired trash wasn't that bad, particularly when you're eating a lemon granita drowned with margarita.

'Voi, Xanxus.' I knew it, I knew he wouldn't – he couldn't – stay quiet for so much time. 'It's going to rain.'

I looked up. The sky was indeed clouding, some parts were even lighting up from time to time, and at each time it was followed by a rumbling thunder.

'So, what are you doing? Are we going back home?' he asked, his face and voice more peaceful than usually.

As a droplet made contact with my forehead, I pondered on how we would be able to reach home without getting drenched to the bones.

'Shit, that was why I hate going out.' I stated. 'We're moving forward trash, unless you want to be taken away by the flood.'

He kept our pace through the piazza.

 

Rain finally came. It was thin and cold, a real March rain. We were waiting for the drizzle to end under the entrance of a church – I don't remember its name, there were so numerous I don't even know how people manage to remember all of them, plus they're all alike. So back to my story, we were waiting, sitting on one of the back bench, both silenced – a rare thing indeed – and with nothing else to hear and to see but the downpouring rain. The church, unlike to the others, wasn't that full of people; moreover when we came in there wasn't anyone anymore.

I sighed. Until when was that fucking rain going to pour? That was boring and I was growing hungry. I cast a glimpse at my side where Squalo was sitting: the swordsman was nothing irritated nor bothered. On the contrary, he seemed calmer than earlier, watching at the rain with dull eyes, face resting on his hand. Quiete. Minutes earlier, he slipped into a puddle (I confess I kicked him down for annoying me for some matter I can't recall anymore), which damped all his clothes and hair. And I was regretting the act.

I was regretting it since I was at that moment witnessing one of the sexiest sight I've ever seen in my life: a melancholic Squalo, beautiful silver hair stuck almost everywhere on his arms, his cheeks, his neck; grey orbs filled with tedium and with only sign of life a tiny glow sparkling toward some place, somewhere. Then under that perfectly purified chin connected to a statuary throat, droplets of rain were falling on a slender, pinkish torso barely hidden by a wet white shirt.

And that was right beside me. No one else around to hinder me from taking possession of that godlike body and fuck it right on the post, hearing for the interminable moaning, bruising that rosy skin, claiming for each part of him…

'Voi, boss.' The shark trash's voice suddenly woke me up from my daydreaming. I didn't notice he was (since when?) watching at me with an interrogative expression. Shit. Did I make a stupid face? Gradually, the interrogative eyes lost their dubious look, and slowly cracked to become fox's like. A lustful grin stretched his lips. 'Wanna do it?'

No more invitation needed. I swiftly took hold of the damped hair and pulled their owner toward me, standing up and crushing our lips together in the process. I dragged the shark to some distant corner, deeper in the nave, to find a deserted confessional. The confessor's cabin was isolated from the outside only by a black curtain. Fuck it, it will make it, I thought whilst throwing the impatient shark in.

'Scopata.'

That day sex for sure had been great. I was sitting on the confessor's place; Squalo was straddling me, grinding sinfully against me. The tempting nape that had been enticing me since our arrival, I bit it; the skinny waist that was waving in front of me, I scratched it; the distant eyes that were watching far away, far into a place where I wasn't, I had them locked only at me, and all things were nice that way. Heat was bit by bit building up.

'Fucking shark… Your pants.'

The silverette started unbuckling nervously his belt before pulling his trousers down, but as the garment wouldn't be taken off, he had to stand up once. Flawlessly shaped legs were showed up when the cloth went off, as well as a raging erection. The sight took the best of me. I didn't give the shark time to take off his shirt and only hastily pulled him back on my lap, my own hard-on already freed from my jeans. Like that, without warning, I sheathed myself in the tight body, hard and roughly.

'Aa- yaa!' The silver trash moaned at the intrusion.

Without further ado I started pulling in and out of the still dry hole, my hands grasping at the shark's ass, forcing him to move at my rhythm. Soon after I was thrusting frantically in my right-hand man, savoring each time my cock went deep in before unsheathing itself again, leaving only the tip in the hot entrance. Squalo was breathing heavily, his hands resting on my shoulders and shaking knees sustaining his threadlike body. I assumed it did hurt like a bitch when I put it in – though, strangely, my mishandling never bothered the swordsman, on the contrary he always put up with it and kept on coming back to me.

I took a look at his face: there was plastered a mixture of want and pain, his grey eyes slightly teary, a frown of soreness contorting his eyebrows, a slight blush tainting his cheeks. His silvery mane was waving in measure with my thrusting, the bottom slapping his ass in the process.

Reale festa di follia.

'Aan… Xanxus… Move fa… Ah! faster… I'm still… I'm still…' He whimpered. Fucking masochist shark trash.

Fuck. That face he was making. I tugged his head closer and kissed him leisurely. My tongue slipped from his lips and went licking his throat, lashing on it, my teeth biting the pinky skin, bruising it, breaking it until a red hickey stained it. The shark only moaned louder and tightened his grip on my shoulders, but at the same time tilted his head aside for me to explore more of his neck. So I did.

Along with the frenetic pumping, I started trailing avid kisses on the silver haired man's nape, slowing moving down to the base of his throat, appreciating the beads of rain trickling from his silken hair. I cast my eyes down and smirked: the damped shirt sure wasn't hiding anything anymore as two erected nipples were shamelessly picking out on it. That's why I said the shark was too easily turned on. My mouth lingered down, next aiming for the little rosy buds. Simultaneously, my hands left his cheeks to trail beneath the wet shirt, on muscular abs and sweaty torso.

'Xan- Ah! Fuck…' Was Squalo's reaction at his nipples got bitten – that and his back arching nastily, only making me go deeper in him. I was biting through the garment, not even caring about removing it, yet the shark's responses still were that intense. 'Nnnh! Ah! There!... There, I feel it… Da-amn…'

He paused, but I didn't want him to. I then took a firmer grip on his ass; the shark whined louder however, very soon, he began moving up and down, alternatively taking in all my length in then releasing it, his movements more fluid than before.

The welcoming pressure on my arousal was maddening. Successively clenching and unclenching it, the shark kept his riding pace, ensuring that my shaft precisely hit that spot in the hole moistened with my precum. I leered at the incoherent words Squalo was saying, altogether with the moaning/panting/groaning. At that point his body was wholly leaning on mine. Without tasting it, I could plainly scent the saltiness of his sweat along with the rain, which was marrying superbly with his hair, his skin, all of his body's smell.

Crap. I was near.

I pumped even faster, the shark following agreeably my pace and pushing exactly how I wanted him to. And I knew his was close to his limits too. All Squalo was capable of was to grab at anything he could find – curtain, chair's back, wall – to sustain himself.

'Aa… Damn good… Xanxus… So good… Comin'… Non ne posso… più…!'

I smirked. 'Debauched shark. Come for your Boss.'

Pushing the shark to his limits, maddening him more and more, bringing him near to insanity until everything left would only be a needy body, despairing to come with no rational thought in his mind, just an all consuming need to fuck. Those were all a delight for me.

As for the shark trash, he was losing it. The feeling of being widened from the inside, the feeling of my cock moving in and out, and then again in and out, continuously brushing again that spot of his. The thought of me spearing his tight ass and bringing him to bliss was too much for him to bear. He moaned and writhed, though he couldn't move as he liked with my balls fused to his butt.

His own member had since long started leaking, the hot liquid mixing with mine and slowly slicking his red entrance and dripping at the junction of his thighs.

'Comin'… Fuck, Xanxus… Com-… A-an… Aaaa!'

It didn't take much more time for him to spurt his semen all over our stomachs, whole body trembling and tightening as he reached orgasm, emitting a loud moaning when he came.

Outside it was raining in buckets.

At that instant, the pressure and the warmth on my cock was almost unbearable. I couldn't do anything but coming with a low grunt when I felt myself got squeezed like in a vice. I came, I came hard and brashly in the puckered ring of muscles, appreciating the sight of a blissful Squalo in front of me, my shaft still secured in him, dripping with our cum.

'Shark.' I finally grunted. 'Be sure to make carpaccio tonight.'

My right hand man had his forehead resting on my shoulder, panting. That was one the rare moment he would openly show vulnerability, and also one of the rare moment I didn't have the urge to crash something at his head for doing so.

He shifted a bit, back still waving wildly from his jerky breath. 'So… Should I add gnocchi and lasagna with it?'

And that was also one of the very, extremely rare moments I sincerely did want to hug him fondly.

 

'Vooi, trash, what are you here for?' The silverette nearly screamed to the other scum, the Sawada brat's Storm guardian. Equal to himself, the silver haired brat was trying to put a serious face, but it quickly disappeared when a spontaneous laugh burst from the tall Japanese Rain guardian.

'Ah Ah! Squalo, you sure never change!' The Rain guardian grinned to the shark. As the first brat, he was wearing a black suit, a sheathed katana dangling on his back. 'Of course we're here to check on you guys. So? How are you doing?'

'The Tenth told us to check on you.' The bomb brat rectified. 'Because you two are doing as you please, the Tenth is worrying about the good continuation of the mission. I wish you didn't lose your aim; it's been one week and we haven't received any sort of rapport yet...'

The rest I didn't want to hear.

I was watching at the scene from a bit more distant place, comfortably sipping at a glass of cheap tequila under one of several parasols in the large hallway of the Venetian station. A swarm of tourists was milling around the quays, a wave entering in the equally numerous trains when another coming out from them. It was even a wonder how did that amount of people could manage to fit in such a small town as Venice.

That evening, the two brats guardians came out of the blue just right after we've succeeded in bursting another group of the Prodi's organization. As a worry of cover-up, they chose a public place for the meeting which seemed that it had been lasting for hours. It was really starting to annoy me, profoundly. From my position I could spot my right-hand man brushing one strand of silver hair behind his ear, eyebrows knitted more with awkwardness than anger. For once, the shark took some time to think before answering with a lower tone.

'Of course, we couldn't communicate with the outside; the enemy could have easily located us if we did. I already told it was an undercover mission, dammit! What's the point if someone finds out our hideout?'

The Storm brat sent him a dubious glare, but didn't say anything. What an annoying brat. Instead, the katana one spoke. 'Then? Did you find anything interesting? We heard the Prodi family was facing some troubles now, even if they seemed to be more powerful than what we had initially expected. That was your deed, wasn't that?'

'Aa.' The shark shifted, dead serious eyes darkened with irritation. 'Those little scums tried to hoax us with their low-level tricks. Humph! Fucking amateurs. But that's nothing for you stupid brats to worry about, so fucking leave the shit of us alone. Or if you want it I'll personally bring the Prodi's head on a silver plate for you and the other trash of a boss of yours.'

At that thought, the two guardians shivered, the silverette with a look of disgust on his features and the brunette with one of discomfort. They knew very well that Squalo was able to do that; after all the pitiless shark reappears when it comes to wipe useless scums' life away.

'W-well, Squalo…' The katana brat stuttered, one hand on my (I repeat my) shark's shoulder in an attempt of calming him down. 'We don't have to come to such ends, do we?'

'That's right.' The Storm added. 'Unneeded zeal isn't required. Just don't forget what your mission's first aim is, don't overact it or do something superfluous.'

The silver haired swordsman grimaced. 'Che. You don't have to remind me what our job is, you shitty kid. And quickly get out from here before someone finds us out.'

The younger silverette stared angrily at him.

'That should be my line. You are the one making noise here. Oh, fuck it. Hey, baseball freak! We're through.' And without further ado he turned tails, heading to the station's entrance, the katana brat on his heels.

'Okay, see you Squalo!' Said baseball freak beamed while waving toward us. 'Take care of yourself!' Aah. Couldn't he just stop smiling like an idiot and promptly disappear from my sight already? I gulped down the last drops of tequila left in the bottle.

'Vooi, stupid brat! Don't forget on training just because I'm not here to kick your ass to do it!' The silver haired man screamed threateningly.

I only saw the younger silverette sitting on the passenger seat of a black cabriolet, whilst the younger swordsman was still smiling to the shark, one hand on the driver's entrance door's handle. 'Ah Ah! I'll remember that!'

He went in before the car left with a low humming. Good riddance.

I saw the shark heading to my table, before sitting at the opposite chair, beckoning a waiter to bring the bill.

'Good.' He said when the waiter left. 'With that hindrance gone, what are we doing next, Boss?'

'Next?'

'Yeah, next. Do you really believe that rat of Prodi's boss is still in Venice right now? I imagine him more running away in another country, tail between his legs. That would be more like him.'

Finally he called at the waiter again and ordered an iced tea, asking me by the way if I wanted something else – of course some more booze. Comfortably leaning against his chair, the silver haired man started sipping his drink with a straw, from time to time blowing in; the drink bubbled noisily. Who's the kid now? I wanted to ask him, but instead I only grunted, annoyed.

'We aren't changing anything in our operating.' I smirked. 'Whether the Prodi rat is still here or not, those fuckers' annihilation remains our main concern. Wasn't that what the Vongola brat wanted us to do?'

Bubbling. 'Yeah. If you say, I don't actually give a fuck. What's truly interesting me is how I'm gonna cut them down, anyway.'

The same waiter arrived with another bottle of tequila; he then poured the contents in a new glass. Squalo raised his glass.

'Voi. Cin cin, Xanxus.'

Bubbling.

 

Another day with nothing else to do than wandering in the crowded, car-free streets and stopping from time to time to buy any edible foodstuff we could spot on our way. Now I think about it, it really was the first time since we met Squalo and me were walking together for no precise destination, doing nothing but enjoying – more or less – what we saw… Or something like that.

That day, it was quite chilly but with no rain. For once there weren't so much people so I could have a better view of the city. Well though it was annoying at many levels, Venice wasn't that bad after you get used to walking anywhere you have to go – and I'd let you know I wasn't at all used to walk for that long, that pisses me off.

The shark though seemed to like it, and a lot. He wasn't even complaining for anything since that morning, neither for the job, nor for cooking, save for the unpredictable coming of the brats. But at that moment, he was calm again, still in his way, and more than ever in his life, I was sure. However seeing him looking like that also appeased me, so it didn't matter.

Still it felt quite weird. So much that it became for me another source of annoyance.

We were going along the Canałasso, looking at nothing particularly but the vaporettos crossing through it, and decks always full of crowd of vacationers. Anyway it still was early, I didn't want to shut myself between four walls yet and I wasn't interested in history so fuck the sightseeing off. The shark trash was walking about one meter further, as to lead the way. He was talking or more explaining something about the palazzo and piazza we were crossing through. I didn't even know the shark trash had any knowledge in history. But then I recalled he had already been there before, although I didn't remember hearing about any mission requiring him in the city before. So it was when I haven't been there, when I was…, I deduced.

In the same time, a curtain of hair as the same color as the moon was waving in front of me, urging me to take hold of the silkiness of it. How annoying was the tip insolently whipping at that slender waist, hiding and showing continuously that swan-like neck, tempting me to see, to touch, to seize more. Shit. Shitty trash shark with his stupid hair and his so stupid, nimble, fucking legs. They were making me lose my precious concentration on… fuck it, I didn't remember what, but that wasn't the point. Not at all.

So, what? What? The trash was saying something about … What was that already? Ah. Something about a man who had lived or died somewhere, I didn't remember. Well fuck I didn't give a damn so that was alright. After some time I think Squalo noticed I wasn't giving a flying fuck anymore to what he was saying – whatever that could be. He finally stopped and changed the conversation topic to something he knew would, without the slightest doubt, draw my attention.

'Vooi, Xanxus. What are we having for diner?'

There it came.

'You know I won't eat anything that tastes like shit, so deal with it and find something that doesn't taste like shit.'

Squalo grunted and mumbled something inaudible between his teeth, brushing some silver strands back in the process. At the frown on his eyebrows I guessed he was struggling in his inner mind: going back and bothering himself by preparing something in a record time, or rather looking for an acceptable place to eat – no matter how long that would take. Well at the end the more probable outcome would be me having a tantrum. As he didn't answer, I took the initiative.

'Stupid trash.' By one arm, I circled his shoulders and pushed him forward. Guess the shark wasn't expecting that because it somewhat startled him. 'Just move on and we'll see what we can find further more.'

'O-okay… But like that, shouldn't we get a boat?'

He still did have that embarrassed look on his face, shifting uncomfortably as he wasn't used having my arms wrapping him – moreover only one arm and barely grazing at his back. But again, I remembered with a pinch of disappointment, that was when we were fucking, otherwise all he could expect from me was something thrown at his head.

How exasperating. Can't put it in plain words, but that trashy shark was fucking infuriating sometimes.

'Nah… Just walk faster, scum.'

Saying that something was truly bothering me was an euphemism. I was annoyed, angry, upset; yet I didn't exactly understand why.

Actually we hadn't visit that much of restaurants. I only lead both of us in the first suitable bistro – according of course to my standards. In any case the service had been fast, so we didn't have to wait for ages for our orders. I glimpsed at Squalo: he was peacefully taking another mouthful of his tortellini (of course wine and any sort of alcohol was forbidden, for him), not the less alarmed by the dark aura which was making the other customers almost running away from our box. Damn, that unconsciousness of his was pissing me off.

'Mmh? You're eating?' He pointed at the plate of osso bucco cooling down in front of me.

'Che. That's shit. I won't eat it.'

His eyebrow twitched.

'Voi. You haven't even touched it. Don't be wasteful with food.'

Fucking annoying shark. The scum started spouting shit like that since he himself had started cooking.

'You're noisy, shark trash. Shut up.'

He sighed with resignation and then – I really wasn't expecting that from him – he leaned on the table separating us with a fork in his hand, a mixture of pasta and meat on it. The shark brought it to my lips and waited. He waited for me, me who was definitely dumbfounded by the move, me who was eyeing the trash like a madman; he was actually waiting for me to eat what he was presenting to me.

Suspiciously, I took it.

…That was true: it really didn't taste like shit.

Albeit the gesture was completely unlike him, Squalo didn't give the impression to take it like that. I mean, right after he just sit back as if feeding me with his fork was something he had been doing his entire life.

'So? Not that bad, huh?' He smirked with his signature grin. One second ago I didn't understand why that man was that exasperating, but with the last move I was beginning to have an outset of answer. Kind of.

'Mm. It didn't make me throw up, I agree. Give me that.' I reached for the tortellini plate, but the silver haired man quickly removed it away from me. Screw his fucking swordsman's speed.

'Voooi! Bastard, if you want one then go order yours or fuck off! This one is mine!' He roared.

'Shitty trash, stop bitching about food and fucking hand it over, goddamnit.'

'Hell no!'

Shit. Whoever that was, that one was right when they said something like it's much easier to die for the one you love than living with them. Not as if I was in love or any shit of the same caliber. Don't misunderstand me.

The diner ended late; we left the bistro far into the night, only few people stayed after us. The outside was still cold, and even colder than before, a cool breeze causing the shark's skin to go goose-flesh. I could see it, there, right under his ears.

'Vooi. Let's go back home. The weather here is like shit by night.' He crossed his arms in an unsuccessful attempt to keep himself warm. Sharks, in spite of everything, prefer tropical or subtropical waters.

'You're playing all delicate and soft now? That's why I'm telling you're a scum.' I was still following him from behind. Perhaps because of the hour or the coldness or merely because they finally realized their incessant rambling all over the town was something even shittiest than the shit-like food I'd had at the getto; perhaps because all of those facts combined, there was almost no one in the streets that night. Nearly a miracle in Venice.

We were crossing a bridge. The sound of Squalo's shoes on the cobblestone road was echoing in the empty space. As the only light was coming from a dim moon and from distant lamps posts, with nothing else to hinder the eyes, I could clearly spot at how white and purified the swordsman's hair could be in the faint light, like angels'. The temptation to grab at it and feeling the silky sensation was once more throbbing.

And then I thought: there was no one within meters radius, his fucking hair had been taunting me for the whole day, and he was feeling cold and the getto was still miles away, so what if…

Yeah, why not?

'Hey shark trash. You're a fucking idiot.'

A vein popped on his forehead.

'Voooooi. Shitty bastard of a boss, what the fuck did you said?' The shark snapped. I smirked in my inner-self.

'Ah? Are you as deaf as stupid? Or is your fucking hair stuffing your ears? I said you're a fucking idiot with semolina instead of human brains. I even wonder how you did to go on until now without dying of stupidity.'

The shark's eyes were so dilated I thought they would pop from their sockets. I like… no. I truly love teasing the stupid trash; whatever people would think, an angry, fuming, stupid silver haired shark is the best in every way, and mostly for one kind of activity.

'Fuck off, you sucker!' Squalo roared. His face was expressing the most farcical face I've ever seen. 'Sometimes you can be such a douche! No, no, no, let me correct this… Sometimes? I should have said most of the time, or rather always! You motherfucking asshole always asking for the stupidest crap from me! Always complaining about the smallest thing and fucking bothering me for fucking everything… Just go die already you shitty dickhead, stupid bos-…'

He couldn't finish his colorful sentence. In a fraction of second I flattened him against one of the bridge's pillars, one hand on his waist to fasten his upper body on the parapet. The other was trapping him just beneath me, faces inches apart. Idiotic shark. Even in the half-light I could easily guess his still angry glare on me and by the same time was delighted by my subordinates' submission.

Maybe I was feeling playful, maybe I've been intoxicated by some unknown substance in the food, but I wasn't really feeling impatient that night. On the contrary I took all my sweet time to have a scent of the proud swordsman's skin, to trail hazy fingers on the undiscovered skin of his abs, slowly going upward and starting unbuttoning his shirt before fondly caressing his bony chest.

As I was ghosting under his left ear, I heard a grunt from the silver haired man.

'What?' I asked. 'Still mad at me?'

Another grunt, 'Of course, you stupid boss. Who wouldn't be after what you said?'. Squalo was frowning, his usual, everyday frown. The small difference was the slight blush on his cheeks.

'Mmh.' I didn't want to talk anymore, my hands finding their way to the shark's zip and his firm ass. 'Then tell me, would you still do all those things you're grumbling about if it wasn't for me?'

One more time, the shark trash grunted, but at that point neither because of anger nor anything else in that context.

'Nnm… Aah!' He whined when I grabbed at his cock and began to stroke it dryly.

Gradually Squalo replaced his angry face by one much more turned on, his cheeks gained by a pinch of pink and sweat slowly building up on his neck. His lips were vaguely apart, a quick breath going in and out. Truly, that man's propensity to succumbing to anything I would do to him was way beyond understanding.

I pumped a little faster and stronger. It made the shark shudder and grip at my shoulders, his hips thrusting forward into my hand as his member was getting hard under the touch.

'Aan… Xanxus!... Not here… Someone will…Nn… see us… Aah! Stop… it…' He mewled while arching his back against the wall.

'Like hell, you depraved shark. Don't you hear your own voice moaning as if you were a bitch in heat?'

One finger went to the slit then played with it, eliciting more and more lewd sounds from the man. At that time the shark trash wasn't even trying to hush the voice he was making, only seeking for pleasure, ever more leaning his lower self on me. His dick was starting leaking; I couldn't hold back a smirk toward the silver trash when I sensed it. He replied with a moan, a mixture of urge, bliss and despair for more. With that obscene and wanting look on his face.

At times like that, I can forget about all my right-hand man (great big) defaults, I can forget he's one stupid of a loud mouthed idiot, I can forget he's a bloody idiot never enough worried by his own-self… In short I can forget the shark was a socially desperate case, and then focus my thought on only licking and biting at a perfectly shaped nape, chewing at a reddish ear, and kissing his parted gorgeous lips.

The strokes went wilder, fiercer, quicker. The shark was still whimpering and calling at my name like a mantra, his fingers digging in my shoulders and his lean waist rising and falling in the same rhythm as my hand, drip wet.

'So hot… Xanxus… Aanh! Down there … Crap… I'm so…'

He was begging, the trash was begging. A melody I've heard countless times, but still hadn't bored me – and I'm sure, would never, mostly when I see how much I enjoy hearing it now.

'Fuck, Xanxus… Nngh… Good… Ah! Com-…!'

I simpered at my right-hand man, my eyes locked with his when he came with a pleasured moan, spreading white fluid all over his shirt. It left his breath heavy and disorganized, his hair a mess and sticking to his sweat covered torso.

'Lewd thing.' I leered. Fortunately he was too exhausted to tell me back. Squalo only stared at me passively, panting roughly and trying to get back on his feet. He couldn't do it, though, so we stayed like that, glued to each other until he was able to stand up by himself.

'Shut the fuck up.' He finally said.

 

Silver glow crossing through a dark curtain barely lightened up by scattered stars; gunshots tearing the night's silence but then dying quickly to oblivion; a dull noise, like a rant, followed by the sound of liquid pouring whether on the ground or into water, and again the reverberation of bullets hitting a metallic barrier. Steps, wave, slashes. It became usual sound to my ears.

I assume Venice's mortality rates increased at least tenfold since we came in. Were we to blame if the city was filled with stupid and God-forsaken people? Was I to blame if said idiots were as fragile as paper when their flesh met Squalo's implacable blade? Of course I wasn't, it was those idiots' fault, not mine. On the contrary they should be thankful for my majestic mercy by giving them death from my splendid sword.

E basta!

The poor blockheads that were slowly dying one after the other were the little of the Prodis' we still hadn't killed by that time. Their boss wasn't there, though, but that wasn't a problem. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof, they say.

Blood spurted everywhere, staining everything – clothes, pavements and water – everything but the shark gracious' form, his whole body seeming to follow the rhythm of a predefined rondo. He jumped into his opponents' formation, scattering them like mere cards soldiers. On question I've kept thinking about since the first time I saw the shark trash fighting is if he was really that good at what he was doing, or if the others were just too worthless that even a trashy scum as the shark was able to defeat them so easily…

I che-ed. Whatever the answer could be, that wasn't the issue at that time. The problem was that one more time I wasn't doing anything but watching at the fight (though I knew for certain that letting the shark handling it was okay). Having me participating in the battle would be too much noisy. We could be easily found out by unwelcome people, he said. Fucking shark, just go die already.

At all events the fight was getting boring: watching a Varia level assassin slaying mud like Prodi's men would always be. I didn't even pay attention at the end of the ruckus as I knew the shark would certainly get back. At the sounds I could hear from my position – sitting on the deck of one of the enemy's motor boats (they had wine stored in, I saw when we suddenly attacked them – cheap one, though) – the shark was almost done. Only three, two… one scum left and he was through. The last corpse fell in the canal, his weight only making a dim 'plop' at the contact of the surface.

Slowly, heavy steps made their way to my boat with low grunts accompanying them. Right after the deck tilted aside, signaling someone had got on.

'Voi.' Squalo nearly collapsed on the floor, I only guessed as he came from the opposite side of the deck. His voice was wearier than the usual. 'Those bastards weren't as weak as what I thought.'

I poured another glass of red wine. 'They were. You are the weak one.'

'Vooooi! What did you say, stupid boss…' He swiftly got up, but almost instantly found himself kneeling down.

That did draw my attention back on him. I glimpsed at Squalo's sitting form.

'…Shit' He was pressing his right hand on the base of the opposite arm, the one he used to fasten his sword with. It was bleeding like hell, his torn shirt discovering the ugly wound.

'What, trash? They really got you? Stupid piece of trash.'

He gritted his teeth. Maybe the pain was making him quiet for once.

'So? How are you going to do from now?' I gulped at the scarlet liquid. 'In that state, you're more useless for me than ever; and we haven't completed the mission yet.'

He frowned deeper. Was it from the soreness or the bother, I couldn't tell – however the injury actually seemed profound and also to sting hellishly, plus the hemorrhage wouldn't stop. 'Che… It's not like I'm a paralytic or what, I won't be a burden for you. I just have to fix it before…'

'Stupid trash.'

'Whaaat?' The shark shouted and looked away. 'Can't you fucking shut it and let people handle their problem tranquilly? Such a pain in the ass! There must be some sort of bandages and disinfectants here. I just have to find them and then… Aargh!'

And that was when the wounded shark fell in his turn in the cold water of the canal. Of course I was the one who kicked him down there.

 

'Xanxus, you're a fucking asshole of a bastaaard!'

Still that buzzing in my fucking ears. Since he emerged from the canal, the shark didn't stop to complain: oh, he was drenched, wet, he would certainly catch a cold; his wound had swelled because of the water, he was starting to lose all sensation in his extremities… Hey fuck you, I said, and stop complaining like a damn bitch.

Of course – I don't even know why I keep holding some hope of the shark shutting his mouth and sparing me with his incessant bitchery – as he never did. Quite the opposite, it only made him whine louder, the scum. Holy shit that man wasn't a man, he was some kind of shitty wife constantly whining for everything and anything good or bad; I mean, getting kicked and falling into cold water in the middle of the night wasn't that annoying, wasn't it? Couldn't he put up with it and quiet down?

'… And moreover I'm injured! You really did have to kick me down the boat? What did I do to deserve that? Oh, excuse me, there's no point asking that as you're doing that fucking everyday! ...'

Guess he couldn't.

Some time ago we had reached the blazing main street. Once more the place, though it was almost eleventh, was crowded to no hell, and much more than the first day of carnival. The shark and I were walking side by side, the swordsman soaked and bleeding and annoyed. His arm was bandaged with strips he had previously found on the boat, it also came off the bullet hadn't hit a bad spot. It had resulted in a wet shark (there had been towels, at least, but no change of clothes), injured but not to the life-threatening point, although the throbbing was lancinating enough for the swordsman to have a constant grimace of pain plastered on his face.

'Shut it, dumb idiot.' I gritted my teeth. 'You're fucking annoying and you're bringing everyone's attention on your stupid face.'

The crowd was so compact we actually had to elbow our way in, which wasn't good news for Squalo who could barely move his left side. With all the odd pierrots and Marie-Antoinettes pushing on his wound he was getting more and more pissed off. And not in the nice way.

'Who's fucking fault is it?' He yelled. 'I should kill you and everyone in that goddamn place right now to make things better!'

However those words were only words and would never become true: to start with because I would kill the shark first, and second because the silver haired trash was too badly hurt to actually do anything.

He stopped and pressed harder on the bands which were staining red. His eyebrows twitched. 'Vooi, Xanxus. I have to hide this. Lend me your jacket.'

I smirkedmischievously. 'As if, you stupid piece of junk.'

'Shit. Stop annoying me already and give me your fucking jacket.' His shoulders were trembling. Like I would give a damn.

I looked down at him. 'Or else what, shark? You trying to threaten me? Voi deficiente.'

I heard him sigh and mumble something about spoiled brats and more profanities. He then feebly scanned the packed street around, and after leaving me without a single word, he disappeared behind a shop's door. I was taken aback. What the fuck was that idiot up to? ...

I waited for him to get out. I think I'd waited for about ten minutes, but he didn't show up. Yet it was hard to spot anyone out in the never-ending waves of people rushing in the streets, and I couldn't pick out the shark trash in the horde of weird citizens.

After some time I was beginning to lose patience and about to burst in the shop when, out of the blue, I felt a tap on my back. I turned to look at the fucker who truly had guts to bump (more or less) on me, but I paused as the fucker in question was a masked woman wearing something like a black cape which was hiding the rest of her body. Strangely I had the impression I knew her, and looking more closely at her greyish eyes …

'Voi, Boss. What the fuck are you staring at?' Squalo's voice suddenly rose from the strange character. That was when the loup was pulled up, revealing the pissed swordsman's face. 'You're creepy.'

I sure didn't expect him to show up with a costume. That didn't leave me any choice than doing what I used to do in those kind of situation; so I punched his head. Needless to say he whined and cursed even more.

'Vooi, you motherfucking fucktwit! What have I done?' He brushed his aching head with his valid hand.

'That one was because you're a bloody idiot.'

'What the heck of an excuse is that?!'

'That wasn't an excuse. And just deal with it, sucker.' I took the maschera and put it nonchalantly on top of my nose, not caring about Squalo's what-the-fuck face. 'What, now? Start moving quickly if you don't want to piss all your blood here.'

We paced forward.

'Che. Bastard.' He hissed behind.

 

Streets were overloaded. It seemed all of the fuckers of Venice were gathered in, that night. Groups of weird geezers in birds, clowns, noblemen and noblewomen outfits, and some I couldn't even guess what they were supposed to be disguised in. And we were jostling our way in that mass of madmen.

At some point I was getting so pissed off that the temptation of pulling my guns out and fire the crowd nearly crossed my mind – okay, not precisely nearly, rather, it did cross my mind, and even many times in few minutes. The shittiest thing was that we couldn't take a boat to drive us to home. The entire canal was as full of dancing and gesticulating weirdoes as the streets, and even more since those ones were dancing and gesticulating on boats. So we had to walk our way home. Crap. That must have been divine punishment, the wrath of God sent to earth to piss the fuck off of me a little more.

'Brooding won't help.' The swordsman suddenly stated. 'I'm as bothered by this as you. Put up with it a bit longer.'

'Suck it up, fuckass. That's only shit.'

He sighed for the second time. It was going to be a bad habit, and that also was annoying.

At least we were perfectly melting in the crowd. Anyhow.

On all sides were only cries of joy, songs, laughs; that with the burst of colors of the outfits, the swirl of the dancers, the lack of air, everything was giving me a shitty headache. How infuriating. Here, there and everywhere a full-load of stupid monkeys with nothing else in their tiny minds than fucking enjoying their pitiful, miserable, shitty life. Holy shit, if I had to stay longer in that flood of stupidity those fucktards would only infect me with their foolishness. I, Xanxus, would never accept that. On the other hand it wasn't as if there were any other choices.

'Hey! Look up!' Someone in the crowd said.

'Where? In the sky? Is there something interesting?' Someone else replied.

'Just look up! The fireworks will soon begin!'

Instinctively I cast my eyes upward, where all the fingers were pointing at, to see trails of shiny powder rising in the dark before exploding into thousand stars with a huge bang. The same scene repeated itself many times, and each time drawing out 'Ah!' of awe from the spectators. Boring. I watched back at the shark. Said man was yawning shamelessly.

'Hey, scum. We're moving.'

'Mmh.' He rubbed his eyes. 'Just wait a minute.'

Swiftly, he reached at a young boy who was sneakily getting away from us, and then, twisting his wrist behind his back. He scowled.

'Voooi, idiota. Drop that here, right now.' He hissed threateningly at the boy's ear. A wallet fell from the boy's sleeve. Squalo finally released his arm and slapped sorely at his head.

'Ouch! It isn't even yours!' The kid exclaimed at the swordsman whilst running away. 'Girlish ninny!'

'What the…? Vooooi! Shitty brat! I should have cut his damn hand!' Gladly, the fireworks' bangs were covering Squalo's voice.

I only laughed at said girlish idiot. 'What? You're playing the good Samaritan now?'

'Che… Shut it.' He picked up the wallet and headed to a middle-aged woman still watching at the spectacle in the sky. 'Ma'am.' He tapped at her shoulder. 'Your wall-… Shit!'

'Oh! Dear me… Papa! Here are the two from the last time!' The old woman called at her husband, slightly worried by the shark. However her expression changed when she saw her wallet in his hand. 'Oh! So you've picked it up! Papa! Papa! A couple that cute couldn't have been as awful as you said, nee? ... Ah?'

I gripped at the shark's (uninjured) arm and pulled him as far as I could from the old farts before they would start to blabber about only God knew what sort of shit.

A nice side of the fireworks thing was that it had everyone distracted with it, so for some minutes they all forgot to walk, which allowed us to move more freely in the crowd. The shark still was dawdling behind me, his cloak fluttering with each one of his steps. I didn't release him until I was sure we were far enough from the inopportune mass, and mostly far from some other old fart to whom the swordsman would find very wise to be helpful again. Unfortunately, fate was playing against me; everywhere there were only more and more costumed idiots trying to mess with us. Walking away without knowing where my feet were leading me, trying to bypass any hindrance that would get in my way, I finally found myself gawking, perplexedly, at a wide area of trees splitting up into many islets of grass, a wooden bench and a street lighting up each one.

Suddenly I heard the silver haired trash exhaling noisily behind. I didn't notice he had actually been exhausted by the last fight – more precisely I wouldn't believe such little fight would have actually wear him out. He heavily landed on a bench.

'Vooi. Let me rest one minute. I'm fed up with running all over the place like this.' The shark brushed his dampened hair back and, with a preoccupied glare, added. 'And fucking throw that thing away! It's weird.'

Ah. That was about the mask I was wearing. I sat beside him. 'You're the one who bought it, aren't you? So don't complain.'

Squalo grimaced bitterly, one hand agonizingly pressing against his cape-covered arm, at the last I guessed the bullet hit him in the bone. I disdainfully raised an eyebrow.

'You really are a delicate one. Whining for only an insignificant scratch …'

'I'm not whining, damnit! And this ain't a goddamn scratch! A bullet hit my arm and went through and it fucking hurt, you bastard!'

Aa, noisy, I rubbed at the junction of my eyebrows. Noisy, noisy, fucking noisy shark. At that time I was tired and I really didn't want to deal with the shithead's overloud personality. And what was his problem, truly? It only was a little cut that wouldn't even leave a scar, nothing to blabber about…

'Just deal with it, stupid. I'm sleepy.'

Without a word, I bent aside and rested my head on the shark's thighs, my feet both laying on the bench's armrest.

'Vooi? Are you nuts? All of a sudden…' I was naturally expecting for Squalo to nag about it, though it didn't went better and I started pulling harshly at some silver strands falling on my face. 'Let go of it already!'

'Scum, it was dropping on my face.' Came my justification. At that point, the shark's eyes were about to pop from their sockets.

'And who's fault is… Hurts!'

I tugged harder on the silver mane. I was glad it finally made the loud-mouthed idiot shut up. What I wasn't expecting though was that I had yanked so hard that the shark had to bend forward in order not have his hair torn out. The result was that I had his face inches from mine – his goddamn "girlish", tempting, enticing face plastered with a mixture of pain and displeasure, inches from mine. At first, his eyelids were closed, but they slowly opened up when I released my grip on silken locks. Slowly a pair of sharp, grey irises appeared framed by silvery eyelashes glowing under the faint light of both moon and streetlamp, looking questioningly at me. With a hint of naivety (so hard to find in Superbi Squalo), but that was their particular charm. As usual, he was frowning – the shark is always frowning.

Unhurriedly I pulled a further more at the soft curtain, that time with no effort, and then brushed my lips against the shark's, barely grazing at them.

His lips were soft and like velvet. That point always amazed me every time we kissed. Ah, but not only his lips. His cheeks' skin too, his chin's too, his ears' too, always easily flushing… I didn't lose time deepening the kiss, my hand circling the swordsman's head, forcing him to lower down. Because of our position, he had to tilt his head oddly in order to take me in more comfortably.

Our tongues intertwined greedily, teeth clashing against each others'. The moist cavern was as always hot and wet and welcoming, a strange, addicting sweetness continually getting me excited for some unknown reason. I bit at the inside of the swordsman's mouth, eliciting a moan from the man. We continue kissing for some time, until both of us would break from the lack of air.

If the sight of Squalo in his normal state was already alluring, the face he was making after kissing was way better: panting, swollen lips, pinkish cheeks, reddened ears, eyes dimmed with something dark and unfathomable, he was the personification of a love addiction.

Hey. Did I say love a moment ago? Forget it.

Just let me enjoy my piece of the carnival; here in the stillness, with nothing else than the harm of the silver haired swordsman's body surrounding me. Only that was already voluttà to my senses.

 

In Venice, March is still quite cold. It's mainly due to the fact that the town is built in the middle of water, even if it's actually the Mediterranean. Yes, it's supposed to be cold… Supposed to be, I insist, since the tiny flat where we were living could nearly be compared with a furnace at the moment.

'Voi, don't complain.' The shark trash stated while fanning himself, sitting near the window, legs wide open. That fucking whore. 'The landlord said it was normal in this time of the year, in this house.'

Though I wasn't really complaining. The reason was simple: the amazing view of the shark wearing a light and pastel, almost translucent yukata, only tied up with a frail and delicate belt. From my position in the bumpy couch, the details were appearing more than visibly.

The dim sun's ray was fluttering on his pinkish skin, a thin coating of sweat glowing on slender shoulders and neck. The brightness of the cloth was perfectly marrying with the silvery hair, rousing those grayish, slit eyes. The trash was frowning irritably – the trash was always frowning irritably – but his serious look was without a doubt the secret behind his gorgeousness.

And that great view was the reason why I would – probably, if I ever remember someday – thank the katana brat.

That morning, the shark was out to take contact with an agent from the Vongola to report on the progression of the job (which had been stagnating for some time). He didn't expect for the Rain brat to greet him on the meeting place with his ugly smile and a "Buon compleanno" written on a coconut glazing cake (it had indeed been the trash's birthday some days ago; I didn't remember, though, before he told me about the cake). Neither did he expect for the present: a purple, silken yukata which really looked like something only a woman would wear. At last the shark trash succeed in dodging the anniversary cake, but the katana brat nevertheless made him accept the girlish gift, Hell knows by which means.

So he was wearing the damn item, and strangely that fact only was warming up the entire room.

'However, that's weird, don't you think?' He said, his frown deepening. 'Is that even possible that we're nearly melting in here when people are strolling in pull over outside? Fuck! It makes me want to get out too…'

His lips were moving gracefully, in spite of all the insanity they were articulating. Rosy, faintly glowing and flawlessly shaped…

'You should have seen that stupid Yamamoto Takeshi. A real dork. How will the Vongola survive if their guardians are all like that?...'

The silver river he had instead of human hair was trembling at each motion. The flow was pure, fluid and shimmering, begging for me to plunge my hand in.

'Pop. (Eh? Since when had he been sucking at that lollipop?) Well, at least the guardians are less useless than the boss himself. But as long as they don't bother us, I guess it's okay…'

The candy was red, as red as his tongue. The thick organ was hiding and showing up, successively. That hide-and-seek game was gradually annoying me. Shit. How could a grown up man get a boner with only that sort of incitement, as fucking tempting and fascinating as it is?

'… Xanxus… Voooi, stupid boss! Are you even listening to what I'm saying?'

The shark finally (finally) noticed I wasn't giving a flying fuck to what he was saying – maybe he also noticed it was the same case for everything he had said to me since ages. I sneered.

'I'm not listening to your shit-like chit-chatting, scum. I've better thing to think about instead of your eternal bitchery.'

The shark frowned. With his lollipop's twig sticking up from those thin lips, he really looked like an assailable bitch. 'Che. Bastard. If it's like this, I'm not talking to you anymore. After all it would have exactly the same result.'

'Maybe.' My eyes locked on a disobedient lock the shark was constantly brushing behind his ear. 'Yet you can use that sweet voice of yours for another purpose, one much more useful.'

The allusion didn't pass unnoticed. I could deduce it at the deep blush on his cheeks stretching to the shell of his ears.

With only one beckoning, he was on my lap, face inches from mine, so near I could perfectly distinguish the diffuse shade of lust in his eyes. He shifted a little, closing the distance between us, and making our lips brush against each others' (the lollipop was cherry flavour). So damn close. And so damn hot.

'Not so fast, shark.' By one hand I trapped his face. 'Let's do it in the bed.'

'Ah?' The silver haired swordsman raised a questioning eyebrow. 'Why?'

'Trashes don't need to know why.'

'Is that so?' He then smirked. 'You know, Xanxus, the fastest you'll put your hands off of my ass, the fastest I'll get there.'

 

'Mmh… Xan-'

Sense it. Feel it.

'Ngh!... Ah…'

Take it. Steal it.

'… Xanxus...'

Devore it. Break it.

'Ah!...'

At last the kiss broke. We were both panting heavily, hands entangled in each others' hair. I threw a glimpse at the man under me: a hot mess of silver hair and lustful desire. Unbearable, the look he was giving; heavy eyelids, half open mouth still smelling of sweetness, and those eyes, again. Two ashen orbs, two glistening wells, or two abysses of yearning, any of those interpretations was right.

The shark's body was sprawling indecently on the hellish bed, like a spell that was luring me closer, deeper. Surprisingly, the yukata thing still was covering up the most of his nakedness – but in truth, in a real filthy way, I have to admit. Shoulders and neck were already bare, showing that pinky skin in all its glory; the outfit's belt had at some point disappeared, thrown somewhere on the ground, so nothing was holding the two flying tails together anymore, half-discovering skinny chest, slender waist and welcoming hips to which were attached slim thighs, creamy and delightful, and thin yet firm legs.

Sfarzoso.

I bit at the faultless skin, right above an erected nipple.

'Aaa…'

That sound only was a damn great turn on. True, was it that easy to turn that man on?

'Ku… puttana.' I grunted. That wasn't all I needed. There was at least one raging one, down there, and it was longing for release. Suddenly, Squalo's eyes dilated.

'Vooi! Xanxus, wait!' He pushed me back when he felt my cock sticking on his ass – futile gesture, in reality, in the state I was in. 'When… When did you pull that out?...'

I grimaced at the shark's sudden rising of chastity. 'What, bitch? We've done this thousands times, at least. You're growing amnesiac?'

'That's not it… I mean…' The silverette was fidgeting. God, how far was he going to play that shitty game? 'Last time… It… kind of hurt…'

It did? Well, I assumed that yes, it may have hurt him. But what did it have to do with… Oh. I got it.

'It hurt, you say?' A smirk stretched my lips. 'So what do you want me to do about it?'

He twitched. Honestly, he should have been expecting that answer, shouldn't he?

'Y-you know what…' He averted his eyes.

'Huh? Sorry, but if you don't express it with more precise words then I may not understand what you need…'

'Fuck you, Xanxus… F-fingers…'

Shameless slut.

I laughed at the innocent shark's plead. It only made him blush harder. Really, was he an assassin or a high school girl?

'If you want it' I whispered in his ear 'why don't you do it yourself.' And, suiting the action to the word, I yanked at his flesh hand. After a last cold look: 'You know what to do next, trash.'

Then I got back to sit at the edge of the bed, my hard-one standing with full pride.

With a shudder of surprise, but also excitement as I could see at his quickened breath, the silver head brought his fingers to his mouth then start sucking at them, slowly and hurtfully. After some time, he finally pulled them out, only to hesitantly down them, down, down to the apart thighs, until they accidently grazed at his hard shaft.

'Uh!' He paused his movement.

'Who told you to stop? Keep on.'

Squalo glared at me, but in the end the fingers reached their long-awaited, twitching destination.

'Aa… Ah!' He moaned when one finger penetrated him. Slowly, it sank in until all left seen was the joint. The little appendage firstly went round in circles in the tight hole, before going in and out, in and out with a steady rhythm. The silver haired man had to lift his waist a bit to make his self-fucking easier.

Then came the second finger. 'Ah!... Ngh… Aaan!' The shark didn't notice his voice was getting higher and higher, though it was a delightful scene for the unique spectator. Too engrossed with his fingering, he had closed his eyes and raised his hips upper, so that he was impaling himself on his fingers altogether with his thrusting. Squelching sounds resonating in my ears.

'Anh!... Xanxus…' Crap. 'I can't… Anymore… I can't stand it anymore!'

'Keep going. I fucking don't want to hear you nag after.'

The shark was lying on his side, three fingers pounding in the small, reddened slit, openly showing it to me. I twitched. Trashy shark. He really knew his way to madden me.

'Does it feel good?' I smirked.

'Ah!... Yes, Xanxus… yes…' he moaned against the pillow, shame and pride forgotten.

'Then, don't remove your hand…'

The trash quivered and opened his eyes when he felt himself trapped once more. Without a warning I thrust in the prepared hole, Squalo's fingers still inside, and started driving in.

'Aaan! Ah! Xan-… Aa!'

One leg hooking at my shoulder, the silver haired Mafioso was moaning as I was pulling hard on his silvery mane. At that moment his whole body was nothing more than a ball of need and longing.

With a hard thrust, I was all in. I then withdrew my dripping organ until the only part remaining inside was the head, and then I thrust again, quickly, brutally, tearing the shark open. But I knew he liked that, I knew all he was waiting for was that, that depraved shark. Again, in and out, in and out, in and out… Every time his erection was bouncing altogether with my shoving, overflowing with his cum. And all that time his fingers were in, thrusting with me in his wetness. I could clearly feel them grazing at my dick when I went in.

'Mmh! Aan! Xanxus… I'm coming… I'm going to…'

Yeah, I know it.

The tightness and heat surrounding my cock suddenly rose. I pulled the yukata off and licked at his nipples. They were hard and pink, just like buds of flower. It didn't take long to make the shark come with a low mewling, while I was still forcing my way in him.

'Xanxus!' He cried, at last. A white gush of cum went dirtying his abdomen. It had been enough to make him pull his fingers out.

'We're not done, not yet, scum.'

I pulled out, but not long, only long enough for me to flatten the shark's limp body, back on the wall.

'Ah… not done yet, you say…' The silverette muttered, but then stilled when he took a glimpse of my dripping sex waiting in front of his entrance. However he cast me an inquiring look when he saw I wasn't doing anything. 'Voi, if you want to do it, do it quickly…'

'I'm thinking about it now, trash.'

'… About what?...'He barely dared ask.

'About this.'

I displayed the cherry lollipop the shark hadn't finished in his hurry of getting fucked. The candy still was soaked with his saliva. Grey orbs widened.

'You know what I mean, huh?' I licked at the lollipop, eyes scrutinizing for reaction.

'… Yes.' The answer was weak and hesitant but at the same time lewd and lascivious. That was my bitch.

'Xanxus… Cut it off… No more…'

I wasn't listening to him (as Squalo should have learnt since long) as I was licking at the puckered ring of muscle, cherry flavor. The lollipop still was stuck inside and melting at each lapping. Tears of pleasure were beading at the shark's eyes, arms trying to brace his tired body on the wall and hair flying everywhere, while his legs were wide open and welcoming and already wet with cum, offering the greatest view for me. I simply couldn't resist that, I couldn't.

'For fuck's sake, Xanxus… Aah!'

Oh. It seemed that the cherry candy hit at something it wasn't supposed to. I rose, at the same time playing with the succio in Squalo's ass.

'Trash, how is it?'

He didn't answer, only his features contorted with pleasure could answer on his behalf. I hit at the same spot.

'Ugh!... Good…' The silver head whined.

'Good, huh? So only a lollipop candy can satisfy you now? What a depraved shark.'

'Aaan… Yaa! Ngh…'

I neared toward him, locking our eyes together.

'Are you sure? Is it really okay for you to get fucked by rubbish for kids?' My tongue went licking at his cheek. How beautiful was the expression he was showing: only lust and anger and shame.

'Voi… No…'

'So tell me. Tell me what is it that you want so much.'

Squalo shivered a bit before replying.

'I-I want you… Xanxus… I want your cock… Inside me… Now…!'

I needed no more begging. Getting a rid of the goddamn candy, I placed my arousal at the slick entrance – wet with melt sugar, saliva and cum. However it took me aback when the shark trash grabbed my organ and plunged it by himself, moaning at the process.

'Trash…' I was disconcerted. I hadn't expected that move from him, so the sudden touch on my skin almost made me come. Almost. Shitty shark.

If he was that longing for a second round, he was getting it, fuck it. We could even do it throughout the night, it didn't matter!

I shoved myself in, the deepest I could, the deepest Squalo could take.

'Xan-… Shit… Aaa! Ngh!'

No way. Again? Even if I hadn't come not even once? I sighed and took hold of his thighs, parting them the widest possible.

'Shark trash. All I've done was sticking it in and you're already…Che. Forget it.'

Came back the in and out motions, tireless, continual and violent, not giving the shark a second to rest. Fuck him hard and deep, fuck him as if there will be no tomorrow. Gosh those thoughts were maddening me; I couldn't restrain myself anymore (not like I was trying either). The beautifully shaped ass was whether slapping on the wall, whether on my lap, emitting a weird sound of spanked flesh. That mixed with the maddening scent of sex and cherry, they were pushing me to my limits.

'Aan! Ah!... Ngh… Ah!'

Gosh, stop making that fucking sound… My nails were slowly digging in his skin, leaving tiny traces of blue all over it. Blue? I guess that was it too.

'Xanxus!... Xanxus!... It feels so good… Damn great… Aan!'

Shut up, I said. Don't fucking talk to me with that fucking erotic voice of yours… Crap. I think my precum was sliding outside of Squalo's asshole, mixing with the shark's own cum. It made my thrusts go smoother, my dick gleaming with the liquid each time I pulled out.

In front of me the swordsman was practically loosing it, screaming at my name, moaning, whining so much his bliss was immense. And I was trying with all my might to keep composure. The worst I wanted to do was uttering to the trash some (true) garbage I'd rather stay in my mind.

Instead of true garbage, I preferred oral sexual harassment.

'Hey, trash… Which one… do you want?...'

'Ah!... Mm… What?'

I shifted and started hitting on another spot. As a minimum, I regained a bit of the shark's attention.

'Which one… Mm... Me coming in or on you?'

The silver trash looked at me agape.

'What… the fuck are you blabbering… That's nonsense…'

'No, that isn't… Or do you want to come all over you, soiling your back and your face with…'

'Sh-shut it, would you! …That's disgusting!'

I smirked. 'Then say it.'

'Che. Please… Xanxus, come… Ah!... Come inside m-me…'

'You see… Trash. Not that hard.'

'Che … Now… can you do it properly… I'm damn close… Aaan!'

I hit directly on his prostate. Never would I tell the trash that I was perhaps as near as him. In and out again, again. They were more erratic, only few jerks I was putting all my strength in – which would have actually broken a mere human; but Squalo isn't just a mere human: he is a mere human who would take everything from me, every shit, every curse, every thrust, without breaking nor escaping. That was why I…

'Squalo…' I whispered. So near!

'Ugh!... Mmh… Ah! Xanxus… I… I'm…Aaan!'

I grunted when I released my arousal in Squalo's tight ass. Fuck, the walls were squeezing it so much I couldn't do anything but coming at the same time as him. The shark trash's legs tightened their grip on my hips when he came, so did his arms on my back. I'm not really a great fan of human contact, but that one was okay, I guess.

Too tired to maintain his position, the swordsman's body slipped down on the bed. His body was bruised, his asshole dripping wet with my semen, filled to the brim. He fell asleep straightaway.

I don't like sleeping with the shark. I mean, more exactly I don't like seeing him sleep. That was why when we fucked back in the Varia mansion, we were always doing that in his bedroom – so that I could leave him easily when we were done.

But in the getto's little flat, I couldn't as there was actually nowhere else I could sleep.

So I had to bear that agonizing sight of the damn shark sleeping like a log, face totally peaceful and serene – so unlike his awake-self – and stunning in its carelessness. Only a white sheet was averting my eyes from seeing his nudity, yet the curves of his body were obviously drawing under it. Up though, I could catch a glimpse of shimmering, pinky shoulders, prolonging themselves into slender arms entangled with those impossible silver, almost white locks. In the moonlight's ray, they were shinning dimly, as if ashamed of what they had witnessed they were no more able to shine as strongly as the silvery disc.

I sat down next to him and fondled on his hair. Squalo didn't wake up. Perhaps that was the first time I was doing that kind of stuff: caressing the shark's face in his sleep. Or caressing it at all.

My hand went caress touching his upper torso, almost too skinny, before reaching the back of his head. Then I grazed at the back of his left ear. There as a dark beauty spot I never forgot to lick when we had sex. Squalo's most erogenous zone I guess.

Something was funny in the shark's sleep. That was his tendency, sometimes, to wrinkle the top of his nose – maybe because of some dream he was seeing (which makes me think about dogs that were starting to run, or at least moving their paws as if they were running, in their sleep). Most of the time, the involuntary gesture was followed by a twitch of an eyelid.

Funny, undeniably. Particularly when hair – hair that was scattering everywhere, hair that made me wonder about how it could be so fucking soft – hair was falling on his face, because I suppose it was tickling, but the dozing man couldn't help it.

That night was the same. Not as if I was always spying on the shark when he was sleeping, I'm not that unoccupied of a man. It was just funny to see. Funny and entertaining. Don't get the wrong end of the stick.

He shifted in his sleep, mumbling something inaudible, and closing the space amid us.

'… Mm… Xanxus…' Squalo muttered. I raised an eyebrow; he was still asleep, wasn't he? '…I …'

Ah? He what?

'…Love you, Xanxus…'

 

Casino Venier, a game and conversation ridotto, right in the core of Venice, at the first stair of a building half-hidden behind taller ones.

The outside isn't that appealing: a big stone house, nothing that's emitting an aura of extravagance or splendor. The inside is a complete different matter: built quite like any Venetian palace, with a huge central room to welcome the guest, and a deployment of many other more little rooms, the casino was simply one of the most luxurious places of the city.

That night, the casino was full with all the kinds of scums you can find in an African souk, dressed up like to go to the opera. There was a smell of expensive tobacco and vulgar perfume lingering in the air. The incessant coming and going of those shitty trashes was giving me a fucking headache. Truly I had always hated places like that.

Trying to avert my eyes from those lousy cattle, I looked for Squalo, but couldn't find him. Ah, of course he wouldn't be there. I remembered: in the second room on the left, there was a liagò, a scanty balcony which allowed for the one who was above to see the outside without being seen. That was where the shark was lying in wait.

After almost two weeks of shadowing, we finally found trace of the Prodi rat. Some mole in their family told us few hours ago that their head boss would be attending to an important transaction in the casino, that night precisely – how lucky for us – and that it would be the best chance to nick him.

So we were there.

I was sitting at the bar's counter, watching at the lazy crowd, with some stupid blond whore accompanying me.

'Nee~ Xanxus-sama!' She whined, but a grunt from me made her silenced.

What a damn useless scum.

I went back scrutinizing the main room. It was undeniably huge, but above all awfully decorated – some shit like in the eighteenth century; that was old and tasteless. Everything from the frescos, mirrors, to the chimneys and doors was. One point only drew my attention, it was a tiny room placed behind the hallway and separated from the main room by a golden grill. What ticked my curiosity was that it was simply impossible to see what was happening behind the grilling. When I asked the waiter what its purpose was, he said that the musicians were playing inside in order not to disturb the customers, yet it seemed fishy.

Ah. Talking about fish, I almost forgot the shark was still waiting outside. I stretched myself to glimpse at the door opening to the balcony, but gave up. After all, he was a grown up trash, he could deal with his shit by himself.

My attention came back to the room when a doorman came from the entrance to let new guests in. A peep at them and I recognized the rat. He looked quite serene all smiling (though a nervous and unconfident smile) for a man who would soon die. Well, that wasn't my problem.

I was planning on calling the shark and telling him to kill the rat right on the spot, I already stood up whilst finishing the last drop of vodka in my glass; but I hung back. I couldn't say what exactly, but something in me was gravely making me reluctant to see his face, at that moment. As if seeing him would be the hellish trigger of some dreadful event…

"…Love you, Xanxus"

Ah. That. That sentence. That word.

That goddamn word he uttered last night in his sleep, was it even true? Or just a creation of my after-orgasmic slumber? If that's the case, then it was even worse. On the other hand I was definitely sure I hadn't dreamt what I'd heard…

Retrospectively, that was definitely the first time he did confess such feeling to me… That was a confession, wasn't it? Oh fuck it. Did I even have to care about? It was not as if I ever cared about the trash's feelings before, or now. And I wasn't going to ponder about his petty emotions overnight… Though I just couldn't look at him frankly. Goddmanit, that sounds fucking girly and shit – enough to disgust me about myself; but it's plain truth. Since that morning, I imagine the shark noticed my hesitation toward him, but he didn't say anything. A strange thing about him was that the scum, even being an overly loud person, loud and annoying to no hell, when it came to thorny subjects, he could be as silenced as death, mostly when I was about me. When I think about it, it hadn't been the first time, the trash is always doing that, every time his lame brain would consider that talking would do no good for me. Holy crap. Seriously, what was he, my mother?

But back to our main subject.

For that night's mission he only proposed to stay each other on different place, him on the balcony to keep an eye on some lackeys blabbering outside the casino, and me inside to watch over the rat when he would get in.

Just like a good dog of him.

Damn. Shark. That was all because of his idiocy. I took a gulp of Vodka. His idiocy and his fucking hair.

Beep. 'Voi.' Said damn shark's voice resonated in my earphone. That was the first time I'd heard his voice since that morning; it was grave and deep. I somehow sighed with relief when I heard it. 'How is it in your side?' Beep.

'Nothing great. He has just got in.' I didn't pay attention to the brainless whore beside me anymore. Anyway she was too drunk to understand whatever was happening under her nose.

'Mm. I saw them coming.' Beep. 'We're staying on the same scheme?'

'Of course, trash.' I got up and walked to the Prodi rat's table. The fucker was laughing with other scums, ignorant of my coming. 'I'm not going to improvise now.'

I nonchalantly pulled my X-gun out as if being on the point of bursting somebody's brain in the middle of the crowd was an excessively casual thing. I pulled at the trigger and aimed at the rat's head.

When, suddenly, as I was barely two feet from the Prodi's head, a keen burning in my palm. I dropped my gun on the floor, blood was slowly tricking down from a stinging wound. So they had already found me out. Not that hard, I guess. Fortunately there were too many people in the room to notice it as the sniper used a silencer, and there was already a lot of noise in there.

'Ku…' Blood dripped on the ground. I turned back and looked at the musicians' box room.

Beep. 'Vooi! Xanxus! What was that s-' Scratch. We lost communication. So they were there too? Miserable weaklings with their miserable means to survive, it's damn sickening.

My first reflex was to pull another gun out and then, quickly melting in the surrounding swarm before the other would notice, I fired on the shed. Fuck silencers, they had been looking for it. Only two swift shots, and the crowd was scattering with panic all over the place, every one looking desperately for the exit. It was a real rout, a general tumult, cries of fear and people running away from me. In the panic, Prodis and co found their way out, hiding themselves in the terrified mass. That wasn't a real problem for me, indeed, as I knew some acquaintance of mine should be already waiting for them outside. I picked up my gun and then paced unhurriedly in the empty room, heading to the entrance door, and before leaving casting a last glance at the untidiness the people had left behind them when they ran out for their lives – tables and chairs wrong sides up, broken glasses and plates, cocktail barely touched dropping on the ground… – and looked at the floor: a thin trickle of blood was pouring from behind the grilling which was showing two holes at head level.

'Humph. Low life scums, not even able to aim correctly.' I turned tail and got out of the casino.

 

Boring, that evening. If that wasn't for that last hunt session, I would be pouring high prized Tequila in my office – if I had been in Sicilia back then.

I was walking on the cobblestone street. Not a single living soul, not even a cat there. But that stillness was favorable to my inner reflection. I was already debating like never in my short life.

So what? What if he said that he loved me? That didn't mean anything. If I had been the one saying it, it neither would have meant anything.

But there the fact was the one who said it wasn't me. It was Squalo. A product of my slumbering mind? As if. Even drunk I wouldn't ponder on such stupid thing, and the previous day I swear I had been sober all over the day.

Yet, after all, how many times did the trash tell me that I was annoying him and pissing him off beyond belief? Countless times. But yet, in spite of everything, how many times did we have sex together even if he kept on saying that… Well. Countless times, to the best of my recollection. At some time, I only thought it was a relief for boredom for both of us, a break from deprivation, quickie nightstands and all, which would have made of us mere sexfriends. The problem is that, gradually, it turned out to be a habit, a normal part of my life, and then a need, and then a thirst, and then a craving…

Fucking shark trash, how dare you make me feel like that? Like a complete idiot!

And if he really meant what he said (which was more likely him, I was afraid)? Damn… Should I care? Should a give a damn fuck about it? That was his fucking problem, whom the trash could fall in love (the word stuck repulsively in my brain) with. Whoever that could be, whether a complete stranger he just met in a bar, whether a brainless brat playing with his shitty katana … Whoever.

Fuck. Fuck that shark.

So if that was the case, why did that upset me like that? Last time, when that little punks groped him… It sure did make my blood boil, in a drastic way. But now I'm on it, wouldn't that be the case for any of my toys? Of course I'm not talking about those trashes who are serving me, no, not them. But, well… Things like… Err. My booze, for example, and… My guns, I guess? Or… Oh fuck it I'm not going to lose my time arguing with myself on some idle subject. That was childish. Yes, a silly, childish thing someone as great as me didn't have to do.

"So why" a voice resounded in my head "Last night, why were you so desperate on suppressing some unnecessary thoughts from your mind?"

I was? Of course, I wasn't. And I'm not desperate. Never. Only weaklings like the shark were…

I wasn't, was I? Shit, when did I become such a ridiculous loveholic? Stupid shark trash, again that was his fault. And I didn't like what those absurd thoughts had made of me.

Stupid piece of trash that couldn't do anything good in his entire life… Or to a certain extent, he could. Those few days I had spent with him taught me that at least he wasn't as useless as I initially assumed. In any case he could become a fairly acceptable food supplier. In point of fact I found myself have a pretty liking for his cooking. This is, in my opinion, an immense accomplishment as a human being.

Okay, that holiday hadn't been that awful. Hell, the house was the worst, the weather was the worst, and the holiday place itself was the worst. Still the company wasn't bad, far from it. I smirk while thinking about the shark and his damn hair (by the way, is that normal when you recall someone's head to always recall about their hair? Fucking hair fetish), his sharp hipbones, refined shoulders, his soft, swan-like neck, the smooth touch of his thighs…

Shit, he would be getting some later, I thought as I sped up.

Yes, having the shark by my side hadn't been bad, I could even say (not to him, obviously) that I enjoyed his companionship – including his cooking and his ass, and something else, something I couldn't exactly lay my finger on. Was he truly in love with me? I couldn't say – and I would never have to. The trash was mine, that only was a fact that would never change. As for the matter of me being somehow enticed with him, could that ever be considered, from an objective point of view, as a possible fact? I. Don't. Giva. Fuck.

All I wished at that time was that some day I wouldn't have to pick up that piece of junk's dead body on a battlefield; that would be annoying. He isn't heavy (no Squalo wasn't), but there is something else… Something that's really disturbing me with the fact of seeing him lying on the ground, motionless, not answering to any of my calls… That's another sort of heaviness that would weigh on my arms, then.

Let's say I'll think about that later. Yeah, later. I would think about that love-until-dying thing later on.

I was walking and thinking, but perhaps did I do the second more than the first, I almost went past the shark's location but finally arrived at where the shark was supposed to wait for the Prodi, a shop window in the deepest part of San Marco. The scum would always run there to wait for his allies at any direct attack. At daylight, it should have been a quite agreeable place in a calm, uneventful district. Still day was long to show up, everything covering the place was darkness, and in that unfathomable darkness a light was gleaming. It was Squalo.

The swordsman was standing there, immobile and panting softly, his sword – it was what I saw glistening in the night – fastened on his mechanical hand, driven into a tender material under his feet, under his feet where was bulging a mount a bleeding corpses (twenty or so). They were all showing wounds with different sizes, but all had almost the same shape of one made by a blade. A cadaver didn't show many cuts, though, that was very alike the pious part of the shark, whatever he would say about it. Giving a swift death by slaying directly at vitals, honoring his opponents even in their defeat and their death. That part was and will always stay the ultimate distinction between the shark's and Belphegor's killing styles, even though they were both into blade things. The brat was a disturbed psychopath who took pleasure in killing; on the contrary not once I've heard the shark trash boasting about his victims. He was proud of his sword, that's all. But that didn't mean that the shark was as saint as the Rain brat, too. An ugly stab right between two eyes, half-cut throats, stomachs overflowing with inner guts, cut limbs remaining here and there… It wasn't at a Cindy Sherman-level morbidity, yet it however was sinister. And in the face of that, he could keep a flawlessly composed and derisive face. As far as I can recall, that image of the overwhelming swordsman was the most beautiful thing I ever saw.

With a swift move, the sword was unsheathed from the Prodi's boss' body, just one waving and the rat's blood was off of it. Then the shark looked at me with eyes that were saying "We're done here, boss".

The place was reeking of dirty blood.

'Aa.' I answered to the unspoken report, and then turned my back to the shark (finally nothing for me to do there). I knew Squalo was following me from behind. I paced tranquilly among the dead bodies and quickly glanced at the shark. Ferric eyes, too rough for a human and yet too soft for a god, damn serious.

Whether Angel who concealed wound or Devil who licks the wound: that was my dearest 18+ rated perfection.

 

'Voi, Xanxus.' He called 'What's wrong?'

A car was waiting for us at the Santa-Lucia, the Ponte della Liberta stretching in front of us. After fucking ages of shadowing, we were finally through, and ready to say farewell to Venice.

'Scum. Nothing is wrong with me.'

The weather was windy, the sky grey and menacing and the water cloudy, swelling. It was making a strange atmosphere in the city. The car was only waiting for us to leave.

'You look as if something was wrong. That's why I'm asking.' Stupid shark. Do I have to report to him everything crossing my mind?

I was standing on the quay. I had no idea of what exactly I wanted to do or what I was looking for from there. The silver haired man was few feet behind me; he had just finished packing the luggage (almost nothing, actually) and was waiting patiently for me to come in. A private jet was waiting for us in the next town, in the Vongola's aerodrome. That was another luxury of powerful people: they didn't have to hurry for their flight as the plane wasn't allowed to take off without them – fuck air lanes' regulations.

After some time the white haired Mafioso started showing signs of impatience, tapping his foot and brushing away a silver lock.

'Vooi, fucking bastard!' he roared. 'How long are you planning to stupidly gawk at the water? People are busy, ya know!'

'Shut up, trash.' I glared at him. And fucking leave me watch what I want, the way I want to, damnit.

I took a deep breath, preventing myself from throwing something at the dumb shark's head.

However said idiot didn't notice the threat and kept on nagging. 'Don't fucking tell me to shut up bastard! You've been standing there for almost ten minutes! What's so great that you can't fucking take your eyes off?' That was the long haired Mafioso's only one failing, yet a real pain in the ass: his constant unconsciousness of others' mood. The shark couldn't, for Jesus Christ's sake, read between the lines. Yes I said he could remain as silent as a grave, but as a matter of fact that wasn't that common. Most of time he has to shout useless shits at you.

But then some would say that there are beautiful things that have more radiance when they stay imperfect than when they're exceedingly finished. If some day I find a scum that thinks like that, I'll have him stay an entire day with the trash. I'll see what the fucker would say after that.

'… Voooi! Listen to what I'm saying, goddamn boss!'

'I've said I'm not listening to trash's talk.'

'Damn bastard!' He stiffened. 'I'm fucking fed up with your shit! I'm happy that shitty mission is over, I won't have to see your damn face every fucking day after that!'

'We're living together, dumb trash.'

'Don't make it sounds like that!' He suddenly blushed. What would it change, the way I say it? We're living together, aren't we? And it wasn't as if that was all we were doing together… That dim-witted shark, always so prudish and all.

I smirked. 'So let me reformulate it in another way: we're having sex together? We live in the same house and we fuck with each other? But actually you're also cooking for me… Does it make of you some kind of girlfriend, or a wife of mine?'

The shark's cheeks reddened; at last they were so red that he could have been confused with a camellia.

'Like hell! Who on earth could stand being with a shithead like you for even one day?!' His voice cracked. 'Voooi, I'm fed up with your childishness! I'm going back in the car. Feel free to fucking fall in the sea and drown in!'

He turned his back and was about to leave, when I abruptly grabbed his slim waist and trapped it as it was in my arms.

'What's up with you now?' He struggled. I almost took his elbow in my eye. 'People are watching, that's embarrassing, you fucking…'

'What if they're watching?' I dove my face in the silvery mane and sniffed at it. He had just washed it – some locks still were wet; it smelled good. 'Don't you want them to know that you're my property and only mine?'

The blush on the Mafioso's face wasn't fading, on the contrary it worsened.

'Ngh… That's not the point at the moment…'

Oh. But you're not denying it. My hands started trailing on the shark's hips and torso. The silver haired man moaned a little when I bit at his neck. Finally, perhaps making out in public wasn't a good idea.

'… Xanxus…' He tilted his head so that he was completely facing me. His eyes, framed by silvery eyelashes, seemed more austere with the surrounding grey. 'Really, what's wrong with you?'

'Nothing.' I replied after some time. I released him and walked to the limo. 'Get your lazy ass in, stupid shark, or we'll leave you here.'

Said man was standing on the same place as before, one hand rubbing at his neck, a fairly unsettled look plastered on his features.

'Aa.'

 

'Welcome home, boss!'

At last we were home (if that glaucous, morbid mansion can be called home). I was somehow relieved to see a bunch of known faces, after those days spent in a foreign city. The all Varia were welcoming us – or rather their boss – at the mansion's entrance. Without giving a second sight to them, I went in, the happy group tagging on me. Bothersome. As bothersome as always. A familiar taste of bother.

'How was Venice, boss? A lovely city, isn't it?' Lussuria sang. 'Mou~ it has been so quiet without you two here!'

'Umu. Where are my souvenirs?' The baby illusionist asked. 'I've told you before you leave to bring me back some souvenirs.'

'Voi, we were on duty, not doing tourism.' The shark shouted. 'And I wish you didn't fuck up with the house when you weren't here!'

'Shi shi shi. So how was it, captain Squalo?' Bel hissed. 'It had been a nice honeymoon, hadn't it?'

'Gah! Honeymoon?' Levy nearly gulped his tongue. 'Boss! That isn't true, is…'

I strode to my office, the shark on my heels. I stilled a fraction of second, one hand on the knob, before answering. 'Not bad.'

'Bo-'

'Voooi! Stop insinuating shitty things!' Squalo yelled louder.

The door closed, separating the bunch of forever-lost-cases and the shark and me. My office was exactly how I left it: dark and empty. The only hint of a former presence in there was a half-empty bottle of Tequila. I mechanically walked to my armchair, when Squalo's voice rose behind.

'Voi, boss. I'm giving the damn report tomorrow, so for now…'

'Scum.'

By one hand, I caught his wrists and fastened them on the door. The shark let me do without saying a word, frowning in a half-hearted annoyance. Honestly, it isn't that easy to pin a full grown-up man to a wall – moreover when that man was a full grown-up assassin – but Squalo would never struggle for something like that. I glared… no. I looked at him. There was no hesitation in his stare, nor uneasiness, neither awkwardness. Nevertheless they weren't bitter. Rather than the silver of a blade, that was the greyish shade of a Venetian sky in March.

I kissed him fiercely, trapping his body beneath mine. Things should stay that way, I thought. Like that was fine; what's would be the point of changing anything…

It didn't take time until the silver-haired man grabbed at my back, leaning on the kiss. We broke after some time.

'Xanxus…' The shark muttered. I drew his waist closer, nesting my chin on the nape of his neck. It was slowly getting warmer, and it felt quite good to stay like that. Believe me or not, but I would never exchange moments like those for anything else. Maybe I was happy after all… 'Xanxus, the bed…'

'Shut up, trash.'

Che. The number of unnecessary stuffs I would have to think about later was rising to a ridiculous amount.

Fine


End file.
